


Heart Says Go

by FoxNonny



Series: Kirkwall - Vancouver, BC [1]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age II, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Actual Smut, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Eventual Smut, F/F, F/M, M/M, Marian and Garrett Hawke are twins, Sex Drugs and Rock and Roll, basically it's a clusterfuck of romcom shenanigans, shameless Canadian settings, sort of a coffeeshop au, sort of a film au, we've reached that point guys we're there now
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-03-07
Updated: 2018-05-06
Packaged: 2018-05-25 07:57:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 37
Words: 182,862
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6186685
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FoxNonny/pseuds/FoxNonny
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Garrett Hawke is a university TA who's looking for true love. Marian Hawke is just trying to do her job without killing anyone on set. No one seems to know how to deal with their feelings like adults, but the Kirkwall Crew is there to help one another out regardless, for better or for worse. </p><p>Things to expect: Isabela setting Garrett up with poorly-chosen Tinder dates, Garrett enlisting the help of the cute white-haired barista with a mysterious past to survive said dates, Carver flirting poorly with an oblivious Merrill, and Anders listening to hipster music while trying to come up with a way to effectively protest, well, everything.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. It's Pronounced "Hey-Zeus"

**Author's Note:**

> Hey remember how in all my other fics I've vaguely mentioned a potential long-fic where I don't torture Fenris (much)? This is that fic.
> 
> It's also a shamelessly self-indulgent fic, tying in some real experiences from my crazy-ass job and set in my overpriced, gorgeous, shitshow of a city. There's another fic in the FenHawke tag I've seen that takes place in Vancouver, and I think they do mean this Vancouver, so I vote that Vancouver just becomes the default modern-day location of Kirkwall. Because. *Vancouver.*
> 
> In this AU, I think of Kirkwall as an area of Vancouver the way that Yaletown, Gastown, Kitsilano, etc, are all areas in Vancouver. Probably closer to East Van than the downtown core. Which might not mean anything to people reading this who don't live in Canada, but it's important to me, so ey.
> 
> As always, I live for comments and kudos, and I love you all. I really hope you enjoy this fic as much as I'm enjoying writing it. Title comes from the song "My Brain Says Stop, But My Heart Says Go!" by FM Static because in classic FoxNonny style, I have to name my fics after songs. Always.

It's a dusky spring evening, unusually warm for April, the emerald lawn surrounding the mansion still damp from the afternoon showers. The sounds of set fill the night air, crackling radios and clanging C-stands, low laughter and muffled curses. The sharp bark of the first assistant director calling roll, the dutiful echoes of PAs, all of it contributing to the atmosphere of hard work and single-minded focus, a multitude of factions all working towards the same cause.

Further from the set, a young woman strides gingerly towards a beat-up Corolla parked on the lawn, biting her lip as she goes. 

The first AD calls cut. A moment later, a clearly irritated voice crackles out over the walkies. 

" _Locations, we are_ still _searching for that black blazer, please report back to costumes ASAP._ "

And another,

" _Locations, we heard someone speaking under the window of that last shot. Please watch your lock-ups._ "

And another,

" _Hawke, locations, has there been any progress regarding the party happening next door-?_ "

The window of the Corolla rolls down, and the young woman jumps back as a walkie comes sailing out of the car, landing with a gentle _thud_  on the grass at her feet. She stares at it a moment, uncertain, and slowly leans down to pick it up.

"Leave it."

The voice comes as a growl from within the car, and the young woman freezes mid-stoop.

"They're, um, calling for you on the radio," the woman says. 

"Yep," says the voice within the car. "They can wait." A pause, then, "What's up, Merrill?"

Merrill straightens slowly, wringing her hands a little. "Um, I just thought I'd let you know that- I mean, he was just on the radio, but Jean Luc is really quite distressed about that jacket, and he's started harassing Mahanon about it-"

The voice lets out a snort, and a trail of cigarette smoke emanates from the car, giving it the slight appearance of a hulking dragon, if one were to ingest a handful of mushrooms and squint.

"Of course when costumes loses their shit, they go to the _on-set key_  to complain. Completely fucking logical. If he gets uppity, remind him that it's his job to remember where he put his shit, and our job to make sure the garbage by their truck and in the green room gets changed out. Or not. Ever."

Merrill blinks. "Um. Yes, well, I can- alright."

The window rolls down a little more, and Marian Hawke makes her appearance, leaning over to consider Merrill a moment with piercing blue eyes.

"Is that transport guy still bothering you?" she asks, her voice a little softer.

Merrill bites her lip and looks away, which is answer enough. "He's just very friendly, that's all. I'm sure he means no harm."

Marian sighs a little, reaching out the window and tapping the ash off her cigarette onto the grass below. "Merrill, you're very sweet, very pretty, and very new. And transport guys are assholes, a lot of the time. It can be hard to deal with. So if they're bothering you, I have your back, okay?"

Merrill wrings her hands again, looking embarrassed. "It's really no trouble."

"Not now, it isn't, but... this industry is shit for women," Marian says. "One of my first shows, a guy who was "just being friendly" tried to grab me. All in good fun, of course. They find ways of covering it up, making it seem like a game or something, but it's not, and you don't have to put up with it. I promise you, I won't let anything bad happen to you if you decide to speak up, okay?"

Merrill nods, her eyes still fixed on the ground, and says, "What did you do about the guy who tried to grab you?"

Marian smiles, sharp-eyed and with just a few too many teeth. "I suplexed him."

Merrill's mouth falls open, and she laughs.

With a nod, Marian retreats back into her car, pulling out her phone. 

Merrill stands there a moment longer, considering the walkie on the ground, and makes one more attempt to try to pick it up.

" _Leave it._ "

Straightening abruptly, Merrill slips her hands into the pockets of her safety vest and scurries away.

Inside the car, Marian leans back in her seat with a long sigh, propping her boots up on the dashboard as she brings the phone up to her ear.

" _Hello, darling_."

"Hey Bela," Marian says, feeling just a little better at the sound of her girlfriend's voice. "I know you texted me for a reason, telling me to call you immediately and all, but first I need to complain."

" _Complain away._ "

"This location is making me tear my hair out. The fuckers who own the mansion keep trying to get their kids in the movie because they don't know how anything works and that, you know, agencies and casting are a thing."

" _Oh dear._ "

"I caught our douchebag key grip dragging a side table out of his way for no reason, on an oak flooring that scratches if you sneeze on it."

" _What a wretched man._ "

"Everyone keeps reaming out Mahanon on the radio because he's new, because _everyone's_ new, and of all the people who are new he's the least new but he's still new because we're filming a fucking MOW in the ass end of pilot season. In _Abbotsford._  Abbotsford! I hate Abbotsford, Bela."

" _You're smoking right now, aren't you?"_

Marian winces, blowing out a plume of smoke. "In my defence, this is only my third. And I've cut it down to two per work day, usually. Today's just so wildly frustrating."

" _It'll be a fascinating study, watching you and Garrett grow old, to see if smoking really does make someone age faster._ "

Marian scowls. "You only quit a month ago, Miss "I-Plan-On-Getting-Laid-Sometime-In-The-Near-Future.""

" _I don't feel as though my sex life is in danger, dear. I'm far too pretty and you're far too easy for that._ "

"I want to deny these things. I won't, but I want to."

" _That's the spirit. Do you feel better?_ "

"No. But distract me. What's up?"

" _Though nowhere near as exciting as your current situation, your twin has had... well, an encounter. He's not taking it very well._ "

Marian sits up, frowning. "Garrett? What's wrong?"

" _He saw Sebastian at the bar earlier._ "

"Motherfucker. Was Seb a douche?"

" _Not directly. I don't think they spoke. However, it was Sebastian's company that upset him._ "

"Oh?"

" _He was with another man._ "

Marian blinks. And blinks again. "The whole reason why they broke up-"

" _Precisely._ "

"Are you sure they weren't just friends?"

" _Apparently there was tongue involved._ "

"Shit. How's Garrett?"

" _Five drinks in and currently deep in conversation with his support group, which at the moment consists of myself, Beth, Andy, and Kitty._ "

"Shit. We're not going to be wrapped for- fuck, at least another hour, hour and a half. They're really fucking milking this scene, it's only three-eighths of a page. Can you keep my brother from doing anything horrible for the next while?"

" _He's put Adele's "Hello" on a loop and it's been playing for the past twenty minutes._ "

"Horrible but manageable. Okay. I'll try to get home as soon as I can."

" _I know you will, love. Give my best to... the coworker that you want to kill least, I suppose._ "

"That would be Merrill. You can tell Garrett his student is doing really well for her second day. I'm just worried the men on this set are going to eat her alive."

" _Are you going to throw someone again?_ "

Marian smiles wryly, tossing the butt of her cigarette out the window. "I've been thinking about it."

-

"Garrett, I love you, but I can only listen to so much Adele."

Garrett stares into his gin morosely, not reacting as Andy removes his phone from the speakers and puts on some underground indie trash instead.

"This is hardly better," Isabela mutters.

"I'm Skyping Varric," Beth says, walking back into the kitchen with a laptop in one hand, a bottle of merlot in the other. "I don't think we're helping much."

" _If you were a bird, without any wings... then I'd be a bird, without any wings..._ "

"Inspiring lyrics," Isabela says, just as Beth eyes the speakers with a quirked eyebrow and says, "The fuck, Andy?"

"You're all far too judgmental and- seduced by the mainstream, or whatever," Andy says, waving a hand. "I've been following these guys since their open mic days. They've got some amazing protest songs too-"

"Who writes protest songs anymore?"

" _Exactly._ "

Garrett downs the rest of his gin in one go, and slides the empty glass across the counter. Beth sets the laptop down in front of him and uncaps the merlot, pouring it into the near-empty gin glass.

" _Hey Sunshine- or not. That is not the face of Sunshine I see before me._ "

"Hey, Varric," Beth says, coming around the counter to hand the merlot to Garrett and stooping into camera view. "I'm really glad you picked up. How's Toronto?"

" _Gross. It's Toronto. What's up with your brother?_ "

"There was a wild Sebastian sighting tonight," Andy says, skipping to the next song on his phone. A clash of guitar squeals accompanies a shout of " _Legalize it!_ " through the speakers, hastily cut out and replaced with some slightly off-tune broken chords and a gentle vocal warble. 

" _That can happen. I'm sorry Garrett, if you'd let me negotiate the break-up, I'm sure you could have gotten all of Vancouver in the divorce._ "

"That's not the thing, exactly," Beth says gently, as Garrett slowly sips his wine with a slightly deadened stare. "Seb wasn't alone."

" _Well when you dedicate your life to the Lord on High, you never walk alone, or so I'm told._ "

"He was with another man, Varric," Andy says, crossing over to the fridge and pulling out a bottle of kombucha. "In a Biblical way, rather than a... you know, Biblical way."

The connection jumps for a moment, leaving Varric's slightly bemused expression frozen in time, one of his eyes half-closed in a blink. Then the feed picks up again, and Varric is uncapping a mickey of rum with a scowl. 

" _I thought douchecanoe left Garrett for Jesus_."

"He might have," Isabela says thoughtfully. "The man Seb was with didn't happen to be hispanic, did he?"

With a soft, sad sound, Garrett folds his arms on the counter and plants his face in his elbows. This soft, sad sound is echoed by Kitty, who sticks her enormous head into Garrett's lap with a sympathetic whine. 

" _Where's the smarter Hawke sibling?_ " Varric asks, throwing back the rum with a wince and lowering it to say, " _Aside from you, Sunshine_."

"Apparently they wrapped not too long ago, and if I know my lovely significant other she'll have beetled out of there pretty much immediately," Isabela says, checking her phone. "They've got a wrap crew in the mansion tomorrow, so it's a walk-away tonight. Oh, Garrett, I meant to tell you, apparently Merrill's doing really well on set."

Garrett gives a weak thumbs-up, but doesn't lift his head. 

" _Listen, Garrett, I know you don't need to hear the pep-talk from me, but just remember: this is the same man who thought the Voyage of the Dawn Treader was the best film in the Narnia series. The man who said Christy Clarke would make a great premier. He upgraded your cable to include the Pope channel and made you pay for it. The guy's a mess._ "

"He also said some very rude things about my involvement with Occupy Vancouver," Andy mutters, following with a swig of kombucha.

"To be fair, dear, we all did that," Isabela says. 

" _Alright, I'm not getting through to him and I won't be back for another week, so I must leave this task in the hands of lesser mortals,_ " Varric says, gesturing to the camera with his rum. " _You need to get the man laid._ "

"I will happily provide emotional support that doesn't include any involvement in my brother's sex life, thanks ever so," Beth says, sounding a little nauseous. 

" _Isabela?_ "

"Varric, darling, you know me," Isabela says with a slow grin. "Getting people into bed is my specialty. Doesn't have to be my own."

" _That's the spirit. Blondie?_ "

"I have a double-shift at the hospital tomorrow, but if any of my patients are relatively attractive and mostly free of venereal disease, I'll be sure to give them Garrett's number."

" _Excellent. See, Garrett? Your friends care about you. They only want the best for you and your pe-_ "

"-People are the _worst._ "

This shout is coupled with a slammed door, and both Garrett and Kitty lift their heads at the sound.

"In the kitchen, dear, there's alcohol and a large dog wanting to see you," Isabela calls, smiling.

Kitty looks to the doorway, then to Garrett, and produces a small whine.

"It's okay," Garrett croaks, scratching her behind the ears. "Go see mommy."

Kitty barks and takes off, scampering out of the kitchen at top speed. A moment later there's a _thump_  and a muffled curse, followed by a gentle, "Hey, baby. As much as I love it when you break my ribs upon entering the house, I need to see my brother. Wanna let me up?"

" _Is that Marian?_ "

"Yeah," Beth says.

" _Then Garrett is in good hands. I have a conference with a publishing agency in the morning, so I'm gonna sign off. Remember, Garrett always starts singing "Wake Me Up Before You Go Go" just before he's about to puke, so if you could cut him off before he gets to that point-"_

"You act as if I don't know my own brother," Beth says, shaking her head. "Bye, Varric. Knock 'em dead tomorrow, or break a leg, or whatever a writer does."

" _Drink, mostly. Tell Marian to stop smoking. Adios._ "

The call ends, and Marian enters the kitchen, Kitty close on her heels. Beth looks up with a frown. "Have you been smoking again?"

Marian glares at Isabela, who shrugs. "I didn't say anything, honey. Varric's either psychic or planted a bug in your phone."

"Probably the latter," Marian says, sounding a little defeated. "Hello, everyone. Hello, little sis. Hello, sad brother. Hello, weird-ass hipster music courtesy of Andy, no doubt, what the fuck are we listening to?"

" _Harper knew, the Tories knew, they knew and never told you-_ "

"A band," Andy says stiffly. "Don't you have a brother to take care of?"

Marian grins, kisses Isabela, and turns to Garrett. "I do, apparently. How are you feeling?"

Garrett stares at the counter for a moment, then at his glass. "This is the best wine I've ever tasted."

"It's merlot mixed with gin," Beth says, grimacing. "He's pretty far gone, Riri."

"I can see that," Marian says. "Alright everyone, clear out please. We need some twin time."

Beth takes the bottle of merlot, Andy takes the kombucha and his phone, and Isabela takes hold of Marian's ass long enough to give it a firm squeeze before sweeping out of the kitchen, leaving Marian with a drunk twin and a large dog. 

"We're taking this to the couch," Marian says, guiding Garrett off the barstool and helping him stumble towards the living room, taking his wine as she does so. With a short shrug, she takes a sip, and blinks. "What the fuck. The gin actually pairs well with this shit."

"It's good wine."

"No, it's not, which is I think why the gin improved the flavour. Bethy's cheap about her reds. Come on, now, let's get you sat down."

In moments, Marian has her brother wrapped up tight in a hand-knit blanket (Andy's), with wine in hand and Kitty at Garrett's feet, wagging her stumpy tail and grinning. Garrett pulls the blanket close with a soft sigh and takes a long sip of his drink.

"How are you doing, _really?_ " Marian asks gently. "All joking aside, I know Seb has a way of fucking with you. Directly, indirectly-"

"He got drunk once and asked me to make out with you," Garrett says hollowly, staring at the coffee table. "Said it would be hot."

Marian blinks. "I don't think I ever wanted to know that. At all."

"I tried pointing out that it would be incest."

"And?"

"And he said because we're technically the same person split in half it'd be more like masturbation."

"Oh my God. Tell me this was when your relationship was already on the rocks."

Garrett looks guiltily at his knees. "Second date."

"Oh my _God,_ Garrett."

"I don't miss _him,_  exactly," Garrett says miserably. "I know he's a garbage human. Well, he isn't. He's actually very nice. Remember how nice he was to Bethany?"

"It's impossible not to be nice to Bethany."

"Still, he was nice to Bethany and Kitty liked him and Mom wanted me to marry him, probably. But that's not the point." Garrett pets the top of Kitty's head, biting his lip. "I miss... I don't know. I really liked him, Riri. Weird twin kink and all. I miss _liking_  someone. It's a nice feeling, like- like there's a sun inside your chest that's giving you a fifth degree burn and you kind of want to claw your skin off. Because, feelings."

Marian glances down at the gin-wine, and looks back up. "Uh huh."

"You're lucky," Garrett says, not bitterly, smiling a little. "You landed the hottest girl on the planet, and you both have feelings. Like, fifth degree burn feelings."

"You helped me get the girl."

"I know. I want you to mention that during your Oscars speech."

"Noted. Gare, I really don't want to sit here and describe why anyone would be lucky to date you, especially after the twincest thing. But they would. And I've always been jealous of you for how easily you love people, you know? I was starting to think I was solidly aromantic before I met Bela, and there you were falling for every dude with pretty eyes in a ten block radius. Your, um, fifth degree burns will come back soon enough, and hopefully for a guy with pretty eyes and at least fifteen percent less drama attached than Seb."

Garrett sighs, and smiles at Marian, eyes shiny with emotions and inebriation. "Thanks, sis. I'm sorry, it's just- we're turning twenty-eight in a few months, you know? And Mom was married at twenty-four, and had us two years later, I just- I feel old. And young. Marian, I feel _yold._ "

Marian snorts at that, and elbows her brother gently. "We may be getting _yold,_  but at least we're doing it together, right?"

Garrett raises his glass to that, drains it, and wraps Marian in a close hug.

A moment later, he says, "You've been smoking."

"Mother of _God._ "

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Hey, FoxNonny, I have some questions about the film stuff!" Here are some answers in advance:
> 
> \- Things that happened for real on set in my experience: my boss getting frustrated and throwing his radio out of his car (I was Merrill in that situation, and yes, he made me leave it on the ground), a catering guy getting handsy and me supplexing him (like Marian did), a costumes person losing a jacket and harassing our on-set key about it instead of looking for it himself (it turned out to be in the costumes truck, in a box, under another jacket). All kind of par for the course shit tbh.
> 
> \- MOW: Movie of the Week. Basically, a TV movie. 
> 
> \- Vancouver is in pilot season right now, and it's crazy nutso busy with American companies taking advantage of the low dollar to come north and film pilot episodes of TV series to pitch to networks in the states. 
> 
> \- Locations is the department that gets the most shit on set. Other departments will argue that, probably, but anyone who's worked Locations knows in their heart of hearts: we get the most shit. 
> 
> Also apparently "mickey" is a Canadian term which wow did not know but it's like, a flask-size bottle of alcohol. 
> 
> Any other questions about life, feel free to ask in the comments and I love you and I hope you're having a lovely day!


	2. Inglorious Backstory

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter ended up being long and I just wanted to update so badly so instead of one monster chapter I split it into two smallish chapters. Sorry for tWO CHAPTERS OF BACKSTORY. Fenris will be along in chapter four istg please bear with me until then.

Vancouver, British Columbia: a modern, picturesque city nestled between the North Shore mountains, the ocean, and the enormous Fraser River. Home of the 2010 Winter Olympics, the 2011 Stanley Cup Riot, and unwitting placeholder for a myriad of cities worldwide in film and television. The housing is unaffordable, groceries are barely manageable, but the marijuana is cheap and plentiful - free, if you happen to walk by the Vancouver Art Gallery on April 20th and breathe deep. 

It's beautiful in many parts, filthy in many parts, and very rainy most days of the year. Occasionally, Vancouver will be hit by storms that rip up the concrete along the Seawall in Stanley Park, and the threat of a megathrust earthquake that will likely kill thousands looms large over those who were unfortunate enough to have paid attention in high school geography class. For the most part, however, the atmosphere of the city can best be described as "mild," excitement found in social clusters, rather than throughout the city as a whole. 

The Hawke twins did not grow up in Vancouver. 

Out through Burnaby, into New Westminster, over the Alex Fraser bridge, onto Highway 64 through North Delta and onwards into Surrey until the forest gives way to farmland, there is a place called Cloverdale, known to those inside and outside the area as "Cowtown."

(This is likely because most of the streets are named after cows.)

A patch of Alberta set in the British Columbia landscape, Cloverdale is an acquired taste. It's far enough from urban Surrey that it might as well not be part of Surrey at all, filled with quiet dusty streets and horse corrals in unlikely places. There's a flea market on Sundays and a rodeo once a year, where the cowboys of the area try very hard to act like Calgarians.

(Calgarians, in turn, often try very hard to act like Texans, but that's another matter altogether). 

Garrett loved Cloverdale as a child. Their backyard was large enough for a well-tended garden and a treehouse set under a rich plum tree, and his best friend Aveline lived just over the fence. When school was let out for the summer, Aveline, Garrett, and Marian would get on their bikes and cycle to the 7-11 nearby for Slurpees and candy in bulk, before dropping into the Roger's Video to rent movies and video games for their annual Summer Kick-Off sleepover. 

Marian thought Cloverdale was mind-numbingly boring, but her family liked it, and there were movies. Wonderful, gorgeous movies with heroes and villains and swords and adventures and not enough women in them but Marian felt that was likely to change, in the future. They were entering a new millennium, after all.  

Their father was sick for a long time, until a certain inevitability became part of daily life, a shadow cast over their childhood. He passed away only a few years after the second set of Hawke twins were born. 

The frustration and boredom of Cloverdale festered in Marian, coming to a head in her early teens as she went on her own adventures with temporary friends to Guildford, Walley, any place she could go where the grime and stale-smoke scent of dirty concrete matched the turmoil in her mind. Garrett covered for her, Aveline scolded her, and between the two of them they managed to keep her from more than a few near-disasters. Still, Leandra Hawke felt Cloverdale was no longer safe for them the way it once had been, and so they moved.

Back down 64th, then further west, to a sleepy community in the Tri-City Corporation of Delta, Ladner. The "downtown" area consisted of three or four streets only four or five blocks deep, and the transit system did not go anywhere useful. Instead of Aveline for a neighbour, they had their Uncle Gamlen, who tolerated Garrett and loathed Marian, who loathed him back in equal measure. Garrett looked after the twins, Marian learned to drive and started working as soon as she could talk her way into a job.

Once, at a party in North Delta thrown by a friend of a friend, sixteen-year-old Garrett found Marian sitting on the host's shed roof, drinking a beer and gazing out at the twinkling lights of the city in the distance with keen blue eyes.

Garrett sat next to her, following her gaze. Suburbs, a forest, a bridge, and a large river separated them from those lights, but in the clear night on top of the shed on top of a large hill overlooking the rest of Delta, they seemed only moments away.

"When was the last time we were in Vancouver?" Marian asked. "Was it when we went to the Aquarium?"

"Science World, Grade Seven," Garrett answered. "Four years ago?"

"Yeah," Marian said. "You know, apparently there's a bus down the hill that takes you to the Skytrain, and from there it's a straight shot downtown. It's maybe only half an hour, forty minutes tops. Lucky."

"You planning a trip downtown tonight, Riri?" Garrett asked.

Marian smiled and shook her head. "Not tonight, no. But I think I want to live there."

Garrett, Marian, and Aveline went to Europe when they graduated, then travelled from there to Thailand, then Australia. After that, Garrett and Aveline went to university, and Marian drifted. 

She took classes, she worked, she travelled a little, restless in heart, mind, soul, and feet. On a whim she picked up and moved to Victoria for a year, where she worked night jobs and slept through the days, meeting strange people in stranger places. 

One of these places was an apartment in Saanich, where she woke up to a large orange cat sitting on her chest and staring at her intently.

"Don't mind Ser Pounce-A-Lot, he just gets a little anxious when he thinks people are dead."

Marian didn't remember the night before, nor was she familiar with the man with shoulder-length blond hair and a sharp face handing her a green smoothie. "Why does your cat think I'm dead?"

She also noticed that the man had a black eye, and eyed her smoothie warily.

"You were kind of really beautifully moronically stupid last night and decided mixing weed, alcohol, MDMA, and an energy drink was a fantastic idea," the man said, pulling the cat off Marian's chest and into his lap. "I wanted to take you to a hospital, personally, but-"

"I punched you," Marian said, feeling a deep ache in her knuckles as she sat up. 

"Yeah."

"How do I know you're not a serial killer?" Marian asked.

The man pulled out a phone and passed it to her, a short video open and ready to be played. 

It was of herself, draped over the stranger's shoulder and pointing at the camera, red-eyed and slack-jawed.

" _This douche thinks you're gonna die, but you're way too pretty and hot and like, hardcore for that,_ " Marian heard herself slur. " _So as a compromise he's taking you back to his apartment in a non-creepy, super not sexual or gross way. He's a med student or something? And he has a cat. And he says he knows Garrett's TA which is like, weird or whatever. Maybe check up on that if you live. Ciao babe._ "

Marian blinked, and looked up at the man. "You know my brother's TA? What's his name, then?"

"Varric Tethras," the man said. "He did a year at UVic when I first got there, and we've kept in touch. I'm Anders Smith. You should really drink that. You can call your brother first, if you like."

Marian didn't know who the fuck Varric Tethras was, but she did know that if she called her twin to tell him about a near-death experience he'd be on the first ferry over. So she drank.

"I don't know you, but you really don't seem the island type," Anders said slowly. "We get a lot of runaways from the mainland though."

Marian snorted. "I'm twenty, I'm too old to be a runaway."

"Sure," Anders said. "You're from Vancouver, then?"

Marian wanted to say no, she was from Cloverdale, or Surrey, or Ladner. But then she thought of those shimmering lights across the water, drinking cheap beer on a rickety shed in the middle of nowhere and thinking of the future.

"Yeah," she said simply, sipping at the smoothie.

"Do you miss it?"

"Yeah."

Within a few months Marian was back on the mainland, Anders and Ser Pounce in tow. Anders transferred to Simon Fraser University for school, where he met Garrett. 

Garrett was working on a degree in World Lit, if only so he could spend more time with his TA, Varric Tethras. Varric and Garrett had become fast friends over the course of their classes together; mostly because Garrett knew how to charm free booze from any bar he walked into. He liked Varric's wild stories, Varric liked having an audience, and both of them liked smoking weed after class and only occasionally before.

Marian, for her part, stopped partying with likeminded drifters and slowly inserted herself back into Garrett and Aveline's life. Aveline, who was completing a Bachelors in Criminology with an eye on the local police academy, was happy to see Marian cleaning herself up. Garrett, who missed his sister profusely and liked Anders immediately, was happy that Marian was only a bus ride away, as the ferry prices to and from the island had been starting to gouge his already near-empty wallet. 

In 2010, Aveline graduated, Garrett moved in with Anders and Marian, and Marian worked with a towing company and made more than both her roommates put together. In February they lined the streets with the rest of the crowd to watch the Olympic torch go past, they cringed during the opening ceremonies as the fourth arm of the cauldron meant to hold the Olympic flame refused to rise, and they walked along False Creek to the sound of Russian choirs in the streets and men from Miami trying to convince Marian to give them her number (because, they argued, "they were from Miami"). 

In 2011 Garrett still hadn't finished his degree, Aveline became a rookie cop, Varric published his first novel, Anders went to med school, and Marian got tired of driving a tow truck and moved on to security work instead. It sucked.

And they were all downtown for the hockey game when the riot started. 

They'd nearly made it to the Skytrain, pushed along by the massive crowd fleeing the rioters, when Marian looked behind and realized Garrett was not with them.

"Shit," she said, with feeling, and Anders and Varric (who was feeling a little trampled by this point) had to physically drag her onto the train to keep her from diving back into the chaos to find her brother.

Garrett, it turned out, wandered off when he saw a group of rioters beating a man who was trying to stop them from breaking into a glass storefront, and charged in to stop them. 

By the end of the scuffle, Garrett had a broken nose, the man he'd defended had a black eye, and the rioters were being scared off by a cop in riot gear with a shock of red hair escaping from under her helmet.

"You absolute _idiot,_  Garrett Hawke," Aveline hissed, once the rioters were gone. "Do you need an ambulance, you stupid, complete- _lemon_  of a human being?"

"I wad do'ig jus' fide before you cabe," Garrett said primly, clutching his bleeding nose. "I'b fide, Ander'll figs id."

Aveline rolled her eyes, lowered the shield of her helmet back down over her face, and took off into the fray again. Garrett nodded, swayed on the spot, and made it three steps before stumbling into an alley and passing out.

He woke up to a lot of pain, blood coppery and thick in his mouth, and a beautiful voice asking if he was alright. 

He opened his eyes and coughed. "I died, did'id I?"

The man looking down at him with such concern, and such pretty blue eyes and thick russet hair, and _such_ a beautiful voice, said, "No?"

"I'b dead," Garrett said, before breaking into a bloody grin. "Becaud you're defididly ad angel."

He then proceeded to roll over and vomit, and that was how Garrett met Sebastian. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Am I going to be obnoxious about end notes on this fic? Probably. 
> 
> \- The Olympics. Holy shit. Some of my best memories are from the Olympics, probably. It was the only time I'd ever been downtown and people would spontaneously burst into "O Canada" (which btw is the most boring national anthem on the planet but I digress). The guys from Miami? Yep, that happened, and given that I was sixteen at the time it was a little weird. But they were completely convinced that Canadian people would be overwhelmed by them being from Miami and would fall instantly at their feet. Also, the singing Russians was a major thing. They were *everywhere.*
> 
> \- The riot. Oh my good fuck in hell. I was actually supposed to be downtown that day with my friends but decided last minute to study for a test I had the next day instead. So we're watching the news and suddenly everything goes to shit and I'm texting my friends like "yo you guys still alive?" One guy I knew WANDERED AWAY from his friends to check out the flipped over flaming police car and got stuck down there for hours on his own. Everyone wanted to kill him. And super classily, I had a friend on the same sports team as one of the guys involved in the car flipping and fire and such. Phenomenal.
> 
> \- What they might not have shown on the news internationally after the riot was that the city responded in the most Canadian way ever. I was downtown a few days after the riot and yes, it looked like a few bombs had gone off down there, but people in the city started writing apology notes on the boarded up windows and shopfronts. I think I even wrote a note on one. Some of these boards were saved and you can see them here: http://www.gigapixel.com/image/gigapan-canucks-apology.html
> 
> \- THE EARTHQUAKE. This is something that some people in the interior don't even know, but the West Coast is long overdue for a megathrust earthquake on a 9-10 point scale. Apparently this happens every couple of hundred years and according to Native oral history wiped out an entire band of people on the island last time it happened. All of us kiddies had to do earthquake drills growing up, we're all taught to prepare our homes to be able to survive 72 hours without help, and we basically live with the happy knowledge that part of our continent is overdue to shift several metres to the left very violently at literally any time. Look up "BC The Big One" and you'll see what I'm talking about.
> 
> Anyway hope you enjoyed the chapter, the next one will be out soon, and as always I live for comments and kudos and I love you all.


	3. Inglorious Backstory 2: Electric Boogaloo

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I AM REALLY BAD AT ESTIMATING CHAPTER LENGTH. Next chapter is Fenris istg. Tag on this chapter for character death, but you'll see it coming a mile away, don't worry.

By fall of that year, Sebastian and Garrett were dating steadily, Marian was really starting to hate her job, Anders spent a month living in a tent city downtown as part of the Occupy Vancouver movement, and Aveline was quickly becoming the Golden Child of her precinct, thanks largely in part due to her efforts during both the riot and the Occupy protest (during which she threatened to arrest Andy more than once "if I didn't think you'd just enjoy it"). Feeling a little outnumbered at home with Garrett and Sebastian celebrating their relationship actively only a few rooms away and Ser Pounce clawing her legs for attention because Anders wasn't home to change his litter box, Marian decided to get a dog. 

The dog wound up being enormous, and quickly adopted a very confused Ser Pounce as her alpha, looking to the cat for instructions on how to behave. After observing her dog trying to clean herself by licking a paw and hitting herself in the face with it, Marian decided to call her "Kitty."

In 2012 the world did not end. Garrett still didn't have his degree, Varric published another book, Anders dedicated himself to his medical studies (and Greenpeace), Aveline was married to her work, and Marian quit her security job to pick up contract work.

At least, that's what she would say at family dinners whenever the younger twins and her mother would ask.

What she actually did was quit her job and lie in bed wondering what the fuck she was doing with her life. This went on for four months.

One day as she was walking around downtown, she passed a line of trucks, a few tents, a boy a year or two younger than herself in a security vest looking bored past the point of death, and a man half-tearing his hair out and muttering fervently into his phone.

" _How._  How did we have _two_  PAs not show up? We're one of the only productions still _going_  in this fucking city right now, it's not like they had a better offer- yes. Alright, well, fuck. Alright."

He hung up, turning to see Marian standing there, watching him.

He sighed. "Look, kid, no, Jensen and Jared aren't around. This isn't _Supernatural_. No one is gonna give you their autograph and no, you can't be an extra. Unless you're a PA and free to work for the next thirteen hours, I'd appreciate it if you move along."

Marian tilted her head, and smiled. "I can be a PA."

The man blinked, and frowned. "What do you do?"

Marian shrugged. "Right now? I work for you, so you tell me."

She was hired on the spot. 

This was in August. By December, she was the show's van driver, and was respected by most factions of the crew, if not actively liked by all. Those who didn't like her were friends of a man she'd decked for grabbing her around the waist after repeated rejected advances. He was fired, she was promoted, and everyone seemed content to let her drive her van around, listen to music, and smoke (or else). For the first time in a very long while, she did not hate her job.

2013 was an eventful year. Garrett and Marian turned twenty-five, Sebastian moved in with them, Varric became a New York Times bestseller, and Aveline shocked the whole lot of them by getting married. 

His name was Wesley, they'd known each other since university. He was kind, if a little bigoted, and preferred Aveline's cop friends over her childhood friends, but Aveline was happy and that was what mattered. 

Marian looked around at the wedding and saw happy couples everywhere - Aveline with Wesley, Garrett with Sebastian, Varric with some pretty blonde woman from New York named Bianca, Anders with a rather fat cat that had wandered into the reception area - and she sipped her drink, thinking. Love wasn't exactly a necessity, in her mind, but it was hard to sit there and not feel a little left out. 

"You look lonely," a groomsman said as he sidled up to her, voice cracking a little on the finish, and he cleared his throat before continuing. "My name's Alistair-"

"No," Marian said, draining her glass.

"Okay," the groomsman said quickly, tripping a little as he fled. He later caught Aveline's thrown bouquet by accident and was promptly tackled by a guest named Solona, who'd executed a perfect mid-air flip to try to catch the flowers. She broke three of his ribs and was mildly concussed upon landing, but last Marian had heard, they'd been married within the year. 

In November, Marian was in the midst of wrapping a location for the night, doing one last sweep through background holding for all the items the extras tended to leave behind, when she met Isabela. 

She stepped through the door of the church recreation room where seventy extras had spent the afternoon running the wranglers ragged only to find that there was still someone there - a very _gorgeous_  someone, with dark skin and thick waves of black hair held back by a bright blue bandana.

"Three umbrellas," the woman was saying to herself, sighing. "Hardly worth it, maybe I'll pass them along to Sera. She might have some friends who can make use of them. But these shoes are almost brand new-"

"What are you doing?" Marian asked dumbly.  

The woman didn't look up, examining a pair of expensive-looking runners closely. "What does it look like, dear? I'm collecting my bonus."

"You're stealing."

The woman sighed, and put the runners down, glancing at Marian over her shoulder. She raised her eyebrows. "Huh. Aren't you a pretty one. Look, darling, I've been working in this industry a year now, and let me tell you - the idiots in background? Never come back for their things. I just re-home them so you lovely little PAs can do your jobs without having to worry about cleaning up after us."

"We have to clean up after you anyway," Marian said, cutting a pointed look at a nearby table that had been liberally smeared with ketchup. "And I could lose my job if I let you take that shit."

"I doubt it," the woman said airily, slipping the shoes into a large backpack alongside two umbrellas, a jacket, and what looked like a very old book. "You seem like a girl capable of talking her way out of things. Maybe it's the eyes. If it makes you feel better, I'll leave behind the sweat socks so you have something for the costume department's lost and found. I'm sure they'll be ever so pleased."

They wouldn't be. In fact, Marian had been through this scenario enough times to know that objects left behind by background were usually passed back and forth between costumes and locations ad infinitum until someone eventually caved and threw everything out. 

Marian sighed, and raised her hands in defeat. "I'm going to go sweep the back hallway, because Lord knows Walt never does anything I ask him to. When I get back, you'll be gone?"

"Oh yes," the woman said, smiling. "I'll even sneak away too, if it makes you feel better. A thief in the night, and all that."

"Wonderful," Marian said, turning away. "If we ever run into each other again, I expect a cut of whatever you make off that shit."

The woman's laughter followed her out of the room, and Marian could feel her cheeks start to burn at the sound of it. _Damn it._

Marian didn't see Isabela again for a very long time. Just over a year, in fact.

In that time, the twins graduated, Garrett graduated and decided to get a Master's, Varric graduated with a Master's and was successful enough with his novels to write full-time, and Andy finally lived his dream and got himself arrested on top of Burnaby mountain protesting an oil pipeline. 

"I've never seen him so happy," Garrett murmured to Marian after they bailed him out, Kitty sniffing Andy's spray paint and grass-stained jeans with interest as he recounted his tale of "gross police brutality" (Aveline dragging him off to cop van by his ear) to the bartender, who listened politely as she poured him another IPA. "I'm genuinely worried he's gonna get addicted to petty crime."

"Maybe we should get him another cat," Marian suggested, sipping her Long Island thoughtfully. "Ser Pounce is pretty chill and low-maintenance. If we got a kitten..."

"We'd have four animals in the house, including Archie," Garrett said, naming the bearded dragon Varric had bought him as a graduation present (short for "Archdemon," for reasons unknown). 

"It'd be the perfect amount," Marian said.

"That's what I was thinking."

As a "congratulations on your arrest" present, the gang (save an unimpressed Aveline) presented Andy with an extremely angry-looking little grey rescue kitten that September. It immediately mauled Andy's hand, took a swipe at Ser Pounce, hairballed over Andy's pillow and fell asleep in Kitty's dogbed (Kitty saw this, whimpered in terror, and immediately fled the room).

Andy loved it, and named it Haunt. 

A few months later, Marian was hired on as TAD for a miniseries last-minute, leaving her scrambling to catch up on paperwork and get her bearings on only two hours of sleep. So it was that she found herself struggling to load her kit into the back of a transport vehicle as two cast members took their seats, one of whom had thick black hair pulled back with a blue bandana. 

Marian cursed under her breath and slammed the back doors, already hearing the 1st AD barking orders at her through her headset. "I'm travelling with cast right now, we're two minutes out."

Nothing, then the 2nd said quietly, " _Sorry Marian, um, Bran's taken his headset off. I'll let him know._ "

Marian rolled her eyes and climbed into the van, itching for a smoke break. She missed the haven of the locations van already.

Then she looked up, and a familiar woman was smiling at her, eyebrow quirked.

Marian blinked, then said, "You've moved up a bit, then."

"As have you," the woman said, nodding to the painter's tape wrapped around the walkie at Marian's hip, " _TAD_ " scrawled across it in hasty sharpie. 

"Not really," Marian said. "Don't suppose you remembered our agreement?"

Isabella laughed, and to the avid interest of Marian, the other cast member, and the transport driver whose eyes certainly weren't on the road, reached into her blouse and pulled out a crisp twenty-dollar bill. "It's a bit warm and might smell like sweat and jasmine perfume, but here you are, you pirate. Hope you don't mind."

Marian didn't mind. Marian didn't mind at all. 

The shoot was a nightmare, and by the end of it the 1st AD had nearly come to blows with the Director of Photography, one of the PAs set a tent on fire, and the entire crew was taken out by a slew of food poisoning from the sub-par catering that nearly halted production for a day, but Marian didn't give a shit. She would later remember it as being one of her favourite jobs. 

Even if a certain actor made a habit of asking for Marian specifically to bring her treats and coffees from crafty, as well as umbrellas and sweaters from costumes on cold days, and newspapers to read when she was bored. Usually Marian would have some very terse responses for actors who treated people like personal slaves.

But this time, Marian didn't mind. Marian didn't mind at all. 

"You've been very smiley lately."

Marian looked at Garrett across the table, nursing a beer as Sebastian slowly fell asleep on her brother's shoulder (he'd challenged Varric to a drinking contest - he lost). "Yeah?"

"And you've actually talked about work without using the phrase "I wanted to tear their face off and shoot myself in the head,"" Andy added, nodding. "Which, after over a year of hearing you say that every day you're on set, I find the sudden change... disturbing."

"In my defence, the best part of working in film is bitching about film," Marian said, shrugging. "What other job do you have where you can say, "Ugh, don't you hate it when the jaguar nearly gets loose and eats your principle cast?""

"There was a _jaguar?_ " Andy said, eyes widening. 

"Yeah, I got to pet it."

" _No._ "

"Ri, you're distracting Andy with cats, that's unfair and you know it," Garrett scolded, catching Sebastian as he slipped off Garret's shoulder and nearly face-planted into a plate of yam fries. "I've got to know why you're so happy."

Marian shrugged. "If anything comes of it, I'll let you know. All I'll say is - there's a girl, and she's hot."

"That's not important," Andy said, taking Marian by the shoulders and turning her to face him. "The jaguar is the priority. Tell me more."

The show ended, of course, and Marian was hired on as TAD for another project almost immediately. She never got the actress's number, formally, but she got a name: Isabela Rivaini. 

A show, another show, some fill-in days, and then Marian was hired for a TV movie as 3rd AD and saw a familiar name on the callsheet. Only this time, as 3rd, she would be stuck in a trailer at circus instead of on-set. 

_I'll see her around,_ Marian thought to herself as she sorted through the week's revised schedule, making notes for her TAD and feeling a little sorry for herself. _Besides, this is way better than being on set. No one likes being on set._

(She'd liked being on set when Isabela was there, winking at her over her costar's shoulder and mimicking the 1st AD's temper tantrums when he was out of earshot.)

There was a knock on the door of the AD trailer, and Marian frowned, looking at her phone. No one had texted her or called her for anything. _Probably someone needs a callsheet._

"Door's unlocked," she grunted, getting back to her schedules.

A distinct scent of jasmine wafted through the trailer, and Marian sat up straight (a little too fast, a little too _obvious_ ), and turned her head. 

"Hello, you," Isabela said, leaning up against the doorway. 

"Your call time's not for another hour," Marian said stupidly. 

"No, it isn't," Isabela said, stepping inside and closing the door. "But I heard you were around. Thought I'd come early." She winked. "In a manner of speaking."

And that's how Marian and Isabela wound up hooking up for the first time in the AD trailer, Marian having to practically smother Isabela to keep her from saying anything career-destroying every time Marian answered the walkie throughout that wonderful hour. 

Marian got home that night, still grinning, with Isabela's number finally safe in her phone where it belonged.

Got home, to find a very quiet apartment with all the lights on, everyone gathered in the cramped living room - Varric, too. All the alcohol in the house was set on the table in front of them. 

Marian felt her good mood vanish, the memories of the afternoon fading as she saw her brother's face. 

"Who died?" she asked flatly. 

"Wesley's patrol car was T-boned by a drunk driver," Sebastian said hollowly, as Garrett scrubbed a hand over his face and said nothing. "They called it about twenty minutes ago."

"Okay," Marian said, and joined Kitty on the floor, reaching for a bottle. She didn't really care which one. 

She let herself call in to work for the funeral, knowing that Friday was going to be a short day anyway and they had someone who could fill in. It occurred to her only when she was face-to-face with Aveline that they'd barely seen each other since the wedding. It wasn't unusual for childhood friends to grow apart, she knew, but if only so she could have been there for her properly, Marian wished she'd tried a little harder to stay an active part of Aveline's life. 

"He really loved you," Marian said after hugging Aveline tightly. She winced a little as the words escaped her lips - cliché, and more likely to twist the knife than anything else, but what else could she say?

"I know," Aveline said softly. "It's just... not very fair, is it?"

The last funeral Marian had attended was her father's, over a decade ago. There would come a day, she realized, ten years from now, when she would be older than her father ever got a chance to be.

"It never is," she said. 

The next day there was a knock on the AD trailer door, and before Marian could decide whether to answer it or not, Isabela swept in. 

"I was a little worried they'd fired you for being so _very good_  at cunnilingus all over those callsheets last week," Isabela purred. "You're just lucky I didn't- what's wrong?"

It was a little jarring, hearing the immediate change in tone from flirty to... well, not quite serious. Not quite concern. It was as if Isabela's voice was wearing lingerie one moment, then immediately switched to plain cotton panties the next.

Marian hadn't slept much. 

"Friend died," she said blandly, not seeing a need to sugarcoat nor overstate. "Well, husband of a friend. He was honestly kind of a prick. But not a bad guy."

"Shit," Isabela said lowly. 

They stayed like that for a few awkward moments, then Isabela said, "I'm... really not good at this kind of thing."

"Yeah," Marian said. "I'm not either."

Isabela tapped her foot for a moment, then said, "I've been told my breasts are very comforting. Would you like to rest your head on them a while?"

Marian thought about it, and said, "Yeah."

Isabela came over and hugged her, Marian settled her head against her chest, and it was comforting, actually. It helped. 

Marian and Isabela stayed in touch once the show was done, though their relationship consisted mostly of booty calls and hook-ups. Marian told herself she was too busy for anything else and anyway, Isabela didn't seem to _want_ anything else. Scattered conversations late in the night gave Marian some idea of Isabela's past - a shitty marriage, a shittier husband, and now a complete lack of patience for love and all its trappings. 

Marian told Isabela, when asked, that love had never really been her area of expertise. She'd seen others in love, but had never experienced it for herself. She didn't know what it was like. 

(When she woke up the few mornings Isabela stayed the whole night, however, Isabela's thick black hair pouring over her pillow and her lips gently parted, she started to wonder if maybe this was how it started. The love thing, and all.)

Everyone had their own ways of dealing with what had happened. Varric dedicated his next book to Wesley (" _I know you're up there pointing out all the factual errors in this police procedural. Like a true hero, you always provided assistance even when you expressly weren't asked. We miss you._ "), Hawke spearheaded a campaign against drunk-driving at his university, Marian worked constantly, taking no breaks. Time off was time to think - about her father, about Wesley, about Isabela. She didn't want it.

Aveline put a drunk driver in a headlock three months after Wesley's death after he'd laughed at her for giving him a ticket. No one blamed her for it, but she did, and took a short leave of absence. No one amongst their group of friends really knew how to help her, so instead they compensated as best they could by dragging her out for drinks and company every weekend. They were forced, awkward affairs, these dinners, but Marian could see it starting to work as Aveline slowly came back to life in increments, working from a half-smile to a grin, then a laugh. 

Sebastian started going to church. 

Marian was gone too often to notice the change much herself, but Garrett felt it - the growing distance since Wesley's death, the silences between them that were no longer comfortable. He thought it was the grief, at first, until...

Until one day Marian came home to find her brother singing " _Kiss From a Rose_ " on the floor of the kitchen to a bemused audience of two cats, a large dog, and an uninterested bearded dragon. There was a near-empty bottle of red wine in his hand, and his face was red and swollen with tears. 

" _There's so much a man can tell you, so much a man can say_ ," Garrett warbled, reaching for Haunt. Haunt recoiled with a hiss and smacked his hand with his claws, leaving several deep scratches. " _Yo-o-o-ou remain, my power, my pleasure, my pain!_ "

"What the fuck," Marian said.

" _Bay-beh..._ "

"Thank God you're home," Andy said, coming into the kitchen with an ice pack on his head, deep circles under his eyes. Medical exams had not been kind to him, and he had two more to go before his term was over. "He's been like this for half an hour now."

"Garrett can usually handle his wine," Marian said, watching Garrett in a mix of fascination and slight disgust. 

"That's not his first bottle," Andy sighed.

"Shit."

"Yeah."

" _O-o-oh, the more I get of you the stra-a-anger it fe-e-els, ye-a-a-a-ah..._ "

"What happened?" Marian asked, stepping over Kitty to the cupboard to get her twin a glass of water. 

"Fuckin'... I mean, we saw it coming from a mile away but I didn't think-" Andy bit his lip, and said, "Seb went straight for Jesus." 

" _I'VE BEEN KISSED BY A ROSE ON THE GRA-A-AY_..."

"Fuck," Marian said, taking advantage of Garrett's sudden sobbing interlude to switch the wine out for water.

"Vodka?" Garrett mumbled, choking a little on a hiccup.

"Sure," Marian said.

Garrett downed half the glass in one go, then continued. " _And did you kno-o-ow, that when it sno-o-ows..._ "

"Well, you're here, and I've got a migraine, and it's past Archie's bedtime, so he's your problem now," Andy said, not without sympathy, frowning as he stooped to scoop up Garrett's bearded dragon. "We're gonna need to find another roommate."

"We don't have another room," Marian said, toppling a little as Garrett hugged her leg and wept into her kneecap. "This four-for-three business was working out great, rent-wise. Fuck."

"We could get a bigger place - there's some shitty houses on Hastings with low rent, more rooms though-"

" _ASK BELA._ "

"Shh, Garrett," Marian said, patting Garrett's head a little absently. "You're not really in a good place to be having this conversation."

"Then _why-y-y_  ar'we _havin'_ it?" Garrett said, hiccupping again. "Th-the _ashes_  of my _heart_ aren' even, like, _cold,_  an' yer... yer-"

"I'm out," Andy said, raising his palms in defeat. "Call me if he's dying, maybe I can tell my prof that I couldn't study because I was too busy getting practical experience keeping people not dead."

"Thanks, Andy," Marian said, attempting to disentangle herself from her twin. Garrett "Bear Trap" Hawke did not release her, and only hugged harder. "Sweet fuck. Okay Gare, come on, let's get you into bed-"

"I _can't_ ," Garrett groaned, burying his face in the denim of Marian's jeans again. "His ghos'n there. His sexy ghos'."

"And on the third day he'll rise again," Marian intoned sombrely. Garrett sobbed harder, and she sighed. "He's not dead, Gare, just a douche. As it turns out. Come on, you can sleep in my room tonight."

Garrett grabbed the fridge in one hand, Marian's arm in the other, and hauled himself up to his feet, draping himself over his sister immediately. "Thanks, sis."

"Garrett, you are 6'1 and built like the most offensive Canadian lumberjack stereotype out there, I'm not carrying you," Marian grunted, looping Garrett's arm around her shoulders. 

"You're wearin' plaid _too_ ," Garrett muttered, but he managed to drag his feet under him as Marian hauled him off to her bedroom. "You're an 'fensive... Canad'n... ugh."

"Are you going to hurl?" Marian asked wearily. 

" _No_ ," Garrett said. Marian would have to take his word for it. It wasn't a comforting thought.

As she bundled her drunk brother up in blankets and forced another glass of water down his throat, she mulled over Garrett's - admittedly blind-drunk - words. _Isabela._

They'd been doing... whatever they'd been doing for only a few months. They were hooking up, that was all. Marian wasn't like Garrett - she didn't do love at first sight. She didn't do three, four year relationships. It didn't seem like Isabela did either. 

"Night, Gare," Marian said, getting to her feet, shaking her head. Even if they were officially _dating,_  which they weren't, three months was not enough time to put between first fuck and moving in together. 

Garrett caught Marian's hand, and when she looked down, his gaze was... well, slightly cross-eyed, but there was intent there, at least.

"If you don't give yourself and Isabela a chance I won't ever forgive you," Garrett said quietly, only slurring a little. "You deserve a happy ending."

Marian snorted. "Your boyfriend of nearly four years just dumped you to run off and join a church choir, Bianca married a corporate exec over Varric to expand her and her parent's business empire, Aveline and Mom both lost their husbands young... what real life love stories do you know of that have had happy endings?" 

"Solona and Alistair are expecting a baby," Garrett said.

"Well, good for them," Marian said. "Look, Garrett, maybe some people just don't _get_  happy endings. Maybe most people don't."

Garrett looked a little like Marian had just drop-kicked Kitty in front of him, and to Marian's horror, he started tearing up again. 

"Shit. Okay. Okay, buddy, I'm sorry," Marian said, looking around her room and finding a roll of paper towel rolled out across the floor. She ripped a few sheets off and handed them to Garrett as makeshift tissues. "Sorry. Look, don't listen to me, I'm bitter for a living. It's what I do. If anyone deserves a happy ending, it's you. And Seb is stupid not to see that, because some other guy is gonna come in and sweep you off your feet before you know it."

Garrett shoved his face in the paper towel and gave a shuddering sigh. It was quite something to see an enormous, bearded man in plaid wrapped up in a pink blanket covered in cute cartoon dogs flipping people off (a gift from Bethany the year after Marian adopted Kitty), crying gently into a wad of paper towels. Marian felt her heart break a little at the sight, and tried to soften the pain by imagining punching Sebastian in the face.

It didn't help. Everything considered, she knew Sebastian wasn't a bad guy. Far from.  _Just fucking dumb, apparently._

"Remember when we were little kids and we'd have twin sleepovers?" Marian said gently, crouching so she was eye-to-eye with Garrett. "We'd drive mom and dad nuts by chatting and playing make-believe until well past midnight. I thought they were going to start locking us into our rooms."

Garrett didn't say anything, and Marian couldn't read his expression (covered in paper towel as it was), but he seemed to be breathing a little steadier. 

"I knew you didn't want to piss them off but I didn't care. I hated sleeping on my own. I was afraid of the dark, and nightmares, and falling asleep in general, and you weren't afraid of shit," Marian said. "Course when mom asked me why I kept sleeping in your room I told her you were having nightmares about being kidnapped and murdered and begged me to stay."

The wall of paper towel was pulled away, revealing Garrett's accusing stare. "It was _you._ "

"Yeah."

"They made me go to _therapy!_ "

"I know." 

"You- fucking Christ, Ri, you always looked like you were gonna take on the world with a baseball bat and a cocksure grin. When you were _eight._ "

"Fake it till you make it, I guess," Marian shrugged. "Look, I'm rambling at this point, but... loving the way you do is brave as fuck. Not everyone can do that. Not everyone's brave enough, or strong enough."

Garrett closed his eyes. "Loving Seb was easy."

"Maybe, but you've got to have an open heart to fall, first."

Garrett looked at Marian for a long moment, grinned, and gently shoved her. Crouching with her knees locked, Marian was pushed off-balance, and toppled onto her ass with a yelp. "You fucker, I was being _deep_."

"You were being depressing, and only one of us gets to be that right now," Garrett said, cuddling deeper into his blankets. "Your heart is big, Ri. And you're not as bitter as you think."

"You haven't seen me bring actors who call me "sweetheart" coffee."

"I've seen the look on your face when you talk about it, that's about as close to that kind of rage as I wanna get."

Marian grinned. "Fair enough."

She circled the bed to the other side and flopped down on the covers, shoving Garrett over to make more room. "Christ, you're a big fucker. Do you still kick in your sleep?"

"I'm a burrito right now, my legs aren't going anywhere."

"Good. Fart and I'll kill you."

"Night, sis."

"Night, bro."

-

Initially they started their hunt for a new place in small townhouse complexes and even smaller apartments, searching for housing and roommates on Craigslist until Bethany mentioned wanting to take some time off school to work (Carver lived on-campus in residence at SFU). At Leandra's suggestion they started looking for houses, given that four-bedroom apartments didn't seem to exist outside million-dollar penthouses. 

There was a place that caught Marian's eye. A house near Kitsilano, within walking distance of the ocean, a half-dozen grocery stores, and a thirty-second walk from a bus line - perfect for Bethany, who didn't drive, and Andy, who didn't drive " _on principle._ " It was in a cheap, slightly grungy neighbourhood called Kirkwall, and featured a popular community pub called the Hanged Man, which had garnered the following glowing Yelp review: "The booze is cheap, if you live long enough after trying the stew to drink it. Five stars."

The rent for the Kirkwall house between the four of them was four hundred dollars over their maxed-out budget. Unless a miracle happened, they couldn't swing it. Marian asked Aveline if she wanted to join them, as she'd been living alone since Wesley's death, but Aveline shook her head.

"I love you all, really, but... I think I love my apartment overlooking the Fraser River that doesn't smell like cat, dog, and Anders Smith a little more."

It was said with a smile, but the sentiment was genuine, and Marian truthfully couldn't blame her. 

"Maybe you should ask Isabela?" Andy suggested, now three months after Garrett's breakup with Sebastian. 

Marian planted her face in her palms, muffling a little scream of frustration. "For fuck's sake, guys, can we not perpetuate the nesting lesbians stereotype? She doesn't want to move in with me. It's not like that."

Two days later, Isabela called. Marian frowned. Usually she texted.

So it was that Garrett and Andy were able to listen in as Isabela said, " _Hello, dear. Listen, I have to move in with you._ "

Marian blinked. "Gimme a moment, babe."

Covering the phone speaker, she shot Garrett and Andy a glower. "She said she _has to,_  not that she _wants_ to. There's a difference and if either one of you bastards say "I told you so" I'm flushing your stashes down the toilet."

That wiped the grins off their faces, Anders muttering "Christ, it's _medicinal_ ," as Marian returned to the phone. "Permanently? We're looking at a pretty sweet place in Kirkwall."

" _Ooh, I like Kirkwall. Had a very nice hookup who used to live there. Liked violet wands. I guess you could say things between us were... electric._ "

Marian smacked her head off the back of the couch, grimacing. "I'm hanging up on you."

" _Alright, Miss Buzzkill - oh, I did it again. Get it? Because-_ "

"Bela, _please._ "

" _Alright, alright. Well, I sort of pissed off my landlord, you see. I might need a place to lay low for a while, as I have kind of a... record. A criminal one, to be exact._ "

Marian sat bolt upright. "A what?"

" _Don't sound so surprised, sugar, when we met I was stealing things, remember? Things you let me steal, I might add._ "

"Yes, but also, _what?_ "

" _It was a long time ago, alright? Well, four years. No; three. Three years, I suppose. I was seeing a CEO of some big company, and I happened to be in his office for... well, sex. And he spent a very long time waving this flash drive around, saying it was essentially his company's Bible, or something, contained all their secrets, and how badly his competitors wanted it and how they'd probably pay millions. He was practically begging me to steal it._ "

"Bela-"

" _Anyway, so I stole it, and put it up for auction between the company's biggest competitors. I mean, I did give it back - I just copied it over onto a hard drive, which I then sold for - well, quite a lot of money, actually. Which is part of why I'd be such a good roommate, I still have quite a lot of it left, even after all the court fees and bail-_ "

"Fuck me up the ass with Satan's rusty pitchfork, Bela, what is this? What is happening?"

" _It's rude to interrupt, darling. Anyway, the original man hired a hitman to kill me before the trade could go down - I know, right? Wild. Anyway, didn't work, got the trade done and all, and then the cops show up! Because they were tracking the hitman, you see, he was wanted for murder. So sure, I look bad for corporate espionage, but the man I stole from looks worse for hiring a known killer, and the killer looks bad too because - well, that's fairly obvious. Anyway, provided testimony, got away from all that, came here with not as much money as I would have had - they froze my account and seized my assets, but I'd managed to squirrel half of it away into secret funds and cash and such and honestly, they didn't look that hard. Thought I'd play actress for a little while - seemed like fun, I'm good at it, and I thought well hey, if I ever became famous I'd have_ quite _a backstory. Only my landlord just found out that I hid my criminal record from him when I moved in and you know, it's quite a big and interesting record. He's given me... well, essentially after explaining all of this, I now have thirty-eight minutes to leave with all my things before he starts getting very angry indeed, and I- I have nowhere else to go."_

About halfway through Isabela's explanation Marian put the phone on speaker so Andy and Garrett could hear better. All three of them were staring at each other in various states of shock once Isabela was done. 

" _Piss. I've scared you off, haven't I? Look, it's fine, I've got a friend in Yaletown who-_ "

"I don't want you to stay with a "friend" in Yaletown," Marian said, her voice rough. "I- look, the boys and I are on our way with the car, alright? Just keep packing up and we'll be there to help in ten minutes." 

The sigh of relief on Isabela's end was audible, and Marian felt an odd lump form in her throat at the sound of it. " _I... thanks. I don't like being in anyone's debt, but... well, I'm glad it'll be yours._ "

"You're helping us out, if anything, though... fuck, we've got to talk about this kleptomania problem of yours," Marian said.

" _I was afraid you'd say that._ "

"What company did you steal from?" Garrett asked. Marian and Andy both shot him incredulous looks, and Garrett shrugged. "Just curious."

  
" _Oh, hello, Gare-Bear! Well, we might as well take this particular cock all the way up the ass. You know QunTech, right? Big corporation?_ "

Andy jumped to his feet, and sat back down, eyes enormous. "I _read_  about that! You're the one who sold the Tome of Koslun-"

" _To Imperium. Yes, that was me._ "

"But- but Imperium is so _corrupt!_  They practically run on slave labour!"

" _Sweetheart, I was stealing corporate secrets from a man I slept with so I could get rich quick. What makes you think I cared? Besides, did you miss the part where QunTech hired a man to kill me?_ "

"Well, _every_  corporation is corrupt at its core, you're right, and at least Imperium is trying some environmental initiatives in-"

"Okay, alright, _please,_ " Marian said, gripping her temples. "Let's just- let's just go get Bela, and then we're going to drink, and then we're going to figure shit out. Okay?"

So that's what they did.

Later, after setting up an interview with the landlord of the Kirkwall house, Dumar, and after drinking quite a lot, Marian lay in bed with Isabela pillowed on her chest, carding her fingers through thick black hair and lost in thought.

"I've gone and fucked it all up, haven't I?"

Marian blinked. She didn't think Bela was still awake. 

Marian breathed, and said, "Knowing that my..." _Girlfriend? Partner? Fuckbuddy?_  "...knowing that you're kind of a fugitive who was once on the run from hitmen shouldn't be hot."

Marian could feel Isabela grin against her collarbone. "It sort of is, though, isn't it?"

"I'm weak, what can I say," Marian said, kissing Isabela's hair. "I'm just glad you're alright."

"Don't get sentimental on me," Isabela said, lifting her head and raising her eyebrows. "You'll make it gay."

"We're both naked."

"So?"

Marian rolled her eyes, and kissed Isabela properly, groaning a little as Isabela shifted so her thigh slipped in between Marian's legs. "You're moving in with me, I feel like- look, maybe there are things we should- maybe talk about-"

"I don't want to talk," Isabela said, rocking forwards, her mouth settling over Marian's collarbone and _fuck,_  Marian was already getting wet from this. "Not unless you're begging, sweetheart. Then I'm all ears."

"You're the _worst,_ " Marian complained, but she belied her words by pulling Isabela closer. In truth, she didn't want to talk about it either.

-

"You guys have to talk about it."

Marian looked up from her laptop where she was assembling maps for tomorrow's callsheets to raise an eyebrow at her sister. She was starting a new show tomorrow, her first as ALM, and already everything was a mess. Between the first location of the day (a high-end neighbourhood in West Van where the locals would call the city film liaison if a crew member so much as sneezed too loud), three PA drop-outs, and an office assistant who was worse than useless and never answered their phone, Marian could already feel her near-permanent stress headache building again. "Talk about what?"

Bethany waved her hands around emphatically, eyes wide. "We've been living here for half a year now, Marian. The waitstaff at the Hanged Man know us by name, order, and- hell, cup size, probably. You and Isabela have been sharing not only a house, but a bedroom for that long. And I still don't know what to tell mom when she asks if you're seeing anyone. I've never seen a more domestic couple in my life, and you both are still acting like it's all frills, no-strings-attached, shitty Ashton Kutcher movie. It's not, and you're both being dumb, and it's hurting my head watching you."

Marian rubbed her eyes, the maps of West Van suburbia swimming in her vision. "Isabela doesn't want anything else, and I don't want to push her. She's been through some shit, okay? I'm happy, she's happy."

"Tits McGee, Marian, have you _asked_ her?"

No, she hadn't. Because she was a coward, and she didn't want Isabela to run. She didn't want her to leave.

_Motherfucker._  She was in love, wasn't she?

"Look," Bethany said, her voice soft. "If you don't want the same thing... it's not fair to either one of you if you don't speak up. You'll start resenting her and she won't know why. Can you honestly tell me if you got a text from Bela right now telling you she wasn't home because she was hooking up with some guy in Gastown, it wouldn't hurt?"

It would hurt like a son of a bitch. Specifically, a son of a bitch with a gun who'd decided to shoot Marian in the gut, so she could bleed to death slowly. Marian knew, because once or twice Isabela hadn't come home since they'd moved in together. She'd said it was because she was staying with friends, but knowing Isabela...

"I don't know how to bring it up," Marian said quietly. "And if I did, and things... she'd want to move out, wouldn't she? Or I should?"

"We've got that room where we've shoved all the shit we haven't unpacked yet," Bethany said. "One of you could take it as a bedroom. It'd be awkward, sure, but we all like Bela, and we all like you. Somehow she doesn't strike me as the type to cut ties with a friend because they've shared a bed."

Bethany, of course, was right. She usually was.

Marian put it off for a week. Then two. That turned into a month.

It was finally as they were stumbling home from a night at the Hanged Man, Marian quite well-trashed and Isabela equally trashed but handling it much better, that they stumbled into their bedroom and Marian said, "I'm not seeing anyone else."

That's what she'd meant to say. What came out was, "Im-na-seen-wansle," and she was forced to repeat herself twice before Isabela understood. 

"Oh," she said, raising her dark brows. "Alright? I didn't think you were, honestly. I haven't been."

"I jus' wanted to- wassat now?" Marian said, squinting.

Isabela frowned at Marian, then sat on the end of their bed, drumming her fingertips against the bedspread and looking squarely at Marian's navel. "Look, I don't _like_  conversations. The big ones. I tend to find that they ruin everything, or- or place rules on things, or just... it's too easy to say the wrong thing, alright? But... I like where I am. I plan on staying. Do you?"

Marian stared at Isabela for a long time. Possibly without blinking. That had to be why her eyes were watering. 

Then, in an ungainly shamble, Marian closed the distance between her and Isabela and collapsed on her, squishing the other woman into the bed and curling up so her head rested on Isabela's considerable bosom. 

"Now I do," Marian said, wrapping an arm around Isabela's waist. "Bela... are you my girlfriend?"

"You tit," Isabela said, though she sounded fond. "Did you think I wasn't?"

"Ya-a-ay," Marian said, and promptly fell asleep. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, I stole Haunt from my Little Grey Cat story. No, it's not Fenris this time. It's potentially Fenris's animal familiar, but it's not him. Sorry the chapter was so long.
> 
> Now for some OBNOXIOUS IRL BACKSTORY:
> 
> \- In 2011, 2012, a program that provided tax benefits to film companies got taken away by our provincial government and the film industry *crashed*. Most people I knew moved to Toronto or talked about moving to Toronto, because literally no one was filming here (no one expect Supernatural, that is). Look up #SaveBCFilm - if you live in the Lower Mainland, you'll probably still see people driving around with bumper stickers under that hashtag and everything. All the work I did back then was volunteer, and it sucked. Things picked up over the years and now we have the opposite problem - too many jobs, not enough qualified people. It's putting everyone on edge. IF YOU LIVE IN BC AND WANT TO WORK IN THE FILM INDUSTRY, MESSAGE ME ON TUMBLR AND I'LL GIVE YOU THE LOWDOWN. You can pretty much throw a rock and hit a filmset in town right now, and likely get hired on the basis of having a pulse and fine motor skills. 
> 
> \- The Occupy Vancouver protest was hilarious. The tent city just moved around from place to place until it was literally twelve people or something under a Skytrain. Mostly everyone was either high or confused or both, and it was a major pain in the ass for everyone else in Vancouver. 
> 
> \- NO I DON'T CONDONE STEALING BACKGROUND'S SHIT. But seriously every time I go through bg holding there's a million things left behind and it's a pain in the ass trying to figure out what to do with it because every show has its own system. Pick up ur shit yo. 
> 
> \- TAD = Trainee Assistant Director. Lots of running around, getting yelled at, charging radios, directing angry background, and answering questions that you get asked again thirty seconds later because no one listens to the answers. I had a 1st AD who would ask a question then put his walkie down, out of earshot, and start talking to someone else, then get back on walkie and start shouting at the TAD for not answering his question. Nightmare.
> 
> \- People jump between departments often in less technical departments like locations and directing and such. A lot of PAs go on to TAD, then 3rd, etc. This is why I tell everyone to start in locations, but nooo, no one wants to pick up garbage...
> 
> \- I once had to turn down a job where I could have been on set with a jaguar because I got hired on for a full show run for someone else, but on my first job I got attacked by a trained falcon so that's something at least (she was majestic, and apparently super friendly with everyone except me. I was crushed.) I've been around wolves, wolfhounds, and lots of horses though. Still. *Jaguar.*
> 
> \- West Van homes. Look them up. On Google Images. Cry with me.
> 
> ANYWAY I HOPE YOU ALL ENJOYED THIS LONG-ASS CHAPTER SORRY FOR THE WAIT AND FOR THE LENGTH AS ALWAYS I LIVE ON COMMENTS AND KUDOS AND I LOVE YOU ALL


	4. Are You There Maker? It's Me, a Cliché Chapter Title

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't want to spoil anything, but there's a popular ship from Inquisition that gets touched on in this chapter. You'll see it coming, I promise. It's adorable.

Garrett has a thing about zombie movies.

The thing? He hates them. Jesus Christ, he's nearly thirty now and he still gets nightmares about _World War Z_  (Marian and the twins made him watch it). There's something about the slow, shambling corruption of humanity guaranteeing a world without the Hanged Man and happy hours and honey garlic chicken wings and puppies that's just so horrendously depressing and unacceptable. When he was a kid, he would pass the controller over to Marian any time he encountered anything vaguely undead in video games. Couldn't do it. 

Yeah, he's got a thing about zombies. Not a fan. 

So it's with a vague sense of unease that he finds himself amidst a horde of zombies now, some closer to the grave than others - students in the midst of exam and final paper season, all staring at him dead-eyed as he wills his hungover ass to say something coherent and helpful. This is their second-to-last tutorial class, after all. Best make an impression, right?

He looks at his notes, blinks, and looks up again, squinting. "Can someone check Merrill's pulse?"

An exhausted second-year reaches over and picks up Merrill's slim wrist, her raven hair covering her face as she lies motionless in her seat, face-down on her desk. She does not stir. 

A moment passes, and the student - Tammy? Tim? TimTam? - looks up, utterly unaffected. "Alive."

"Well, that's something," Garrett mutters. He looks at his notes and wants to cry. "Alright, honesty hour here - are any of you sorry bastards absorbing a word of what I'm saying?"

The response is just tragic - a few scattered "Nos," some people shake their head, most just yawn and Garrett can't look at them because he'll either yawn too or throw up. Maybe both.

_Ew._

"Alright, get out," Garrett sighs, stuffing his notes into a binder that's bursting at the seams. "Everyone get some sleep, or- I don't know, get a coffee or something. Christ."

Almost everyone's left by the time Garrett finishes collecting his things. Everyone save Merrill, still fast asleep and snoring shockingly loudly for such a tiny girl.

Garrett winds his way through the desks, his heart soft and sad as he watches Merrill drool gently on the desk. She's been his favourite since day one, despite her preference for some of the most fucked-up world literature Garrett's ever read. A real Poe and Junji Ito fan, with a Gillian Flynn twist. She's around Bethany and Carver's age, give or take a year, and Garrett often finds his overprotective older brother side rearing up around her. 

"Merrill," he says gently, to no effect. A little louder he says, " _Merrill._ " 

Nothing.

He takes her shoulder in hand and gives it a little shake. "Merr-"

Merrill sits bolt upright with a scream. Garrett leaps a full meter to the left and takes out two chairs and a desk on the way down, and also screams.

"Oh goodness," Merrill says, hands over her mouth, her voice small and prim and very Welsh. "Oh Christ, Mr Hawke, I'm so very sorry, I'm a bit antsy when I wake-"

"You don't say," Garrett says, sitting up with a wince. "No offence, Merrill, but were you murdered in your sleep in a past life?"

"I've never asked," Merrill says thoughtfully. "My Nain had a friend who claimed I was some kind of priestess, but she also said I summoned a demon. Which is exciting and all, but- oh, you were kidding, weren't you?"

"I was, but now I'm genuinely intrigued," Garrett says. A little softer, he says, "Are you alright? Marian says you did a great job on set this weekend, by the way." 

Merrill blushes at this, but she's obviously pleased.

"I felt like I was mucking everything up, to be perfectly honest," Merrill says. "It's so- busy. On set, I mean. Have you ever done it?"

"Marian used to drag me out whenever she was short a PA," Garrett says, shuddering. "Once she had me parking cars at five in the morning. In Squamish. In February. In the _rain._  And when the sun came out a few hours later it was still cold as all hell, and the wind started blowing, and the waterproof jacket I'd borrowed from her was too short so rain went all down the back of my jeans and my pants were damp for fifteen _hours._ "

Merrill's mouth twitches as she asks, "Your pants, Canadian, or your _pants_ , Welsh?"

"Both," Garrett says, and Merrill giggles.

There's a knock at the door, and they both look up to see a slightly dour-looking student standing there, decked out in SFU Athletics gear.

"Carver," says Garrett.

"Carver!" says Merrill.

"Merrill?" says Carver.

There's a pause, then all three of them say, "How do you know each other?"

"You two first," Merrill laughs, as she starts to pack up her bag.

"Carver is blessed with the good fortune of being my younger brother," Garrett says, smiling sunnily at Carver. Carver, who'd been looking at Merrill with - good Lord, something resembling a _smile_  - quickly scowls.

"That's not what I would call it," Carver mutters.

"Oh, Garrett's _lovely_  though," Merrill says, then says, "But not- not like that. I mean he's nice?"

Carver's scowl deepens, though it's very clearly not directed at Merrill. _Oh dear._

"And how do you know my brother?" Garrett says to Merrill. To Carver, he adds, "It should be pretty obvious how I know Merrill, given that she's in a classroom and all."

"I try to forget that they actually let you teach here," Carver says. "Didn't know they taught classes on cheesy one-liners."

"Well, Carver, I'm afraid that if you're planning on entering that very popular third-year course "Witty Dialogue Options," "Cheesy One-Liners 101" is a pre-requisite," Garrett says. Merrill laughs. Carver doesn't.

"Carver and I both took Philosophy of Law this semester," Merrill says, standing. "Sat next to each other, too, which was grand, because I kept losing my books. I meant to ask, by the way - I don't suppose you know when the final is?"

"Next Tuesday, 10:30," Carver says. Looking suddenly awkward, he adds, "Would you like to... study together, sometime this week?"

Merrill smiles, and Garrett is pretty sure the sun comes out and worldwide peace is achieved in the same moment. "That would be wonderful! Text me tonight, yeah?"

"Sure," Carver says, straightening with a cough, his eyes fixed somewhere behind Garrett's left ear.

Merrill slings her book bag over her shoulder and makes for the door, turning back to wave at Garrett and even giving a clearly stunned Carver a quick hug before exiting the room.

The sudden silence in the room is deafening. Garrett clears his throat.

"So-"

"Shut up."

Garrett raises an eyebrow as Carver colours. "Oh, wow."

"It's not- we're friends," Carver says flatly, his eyes on the floor. "I know it's a _lot_  to ask, but please just- don't be weird about it, okay?"

"I'm not the one who looked like he was about to propose while suggesting a study session," Garrett says, grinning. "You know you're living a common college romcom trope, right? "Big Man On Campus Jock falls for Cute Goth Girl?""

"Well, that tells me what movies _you're_ watching," Carver mutters. "To think I came here to see how you were doing..."

Garrett feels his grin slip. "Eh?"

Carver sighs and crosses his arms, biceps bulging, and sweet Jesus _,_  Garrett needs to work out more. No _way_  is his little brother going to be more jacked than he is. "Look, Bethany texted me last night. I heard you ran into Douchecanoe."

Garrett winces. "I think it only counts as "running into" if we made awkward eye contact, or- spoke, God forbid. There was running involved, though."

"You, as you ran out the door?"

"Yeah."

Carver taps his foot, and says, "For the record, I never liked him."

"You've never liked anyone I've dated."

"I liked that girl you went to grad with."

Knowing he shouldn't poke the bear, but utterly unable to control himself, Garrett says, "You had a crush on the girl I went to grad with."

"Fuck off."

"It was really cute."

"Fuck it, you seem fine, I'm out," Carver says, throwing his hands up as he turns on his heel. "Say hi to Beth for me, don't date any more douches, and _don't tell Ri about what you just saw_."

"I can only guarantee one of those things," Garrett calls, as Carver stalks out the door. 

_Interesting_ , Garrett thinks, shaking his head. He pulls out his phone.

 

**To: RULE63ME**

hey sis how's ur day want some power over carver

**From: RULE63ME**

I'd rather have power over the weather. It's fucking raining in Abbotsford. I fucking hate fucking Abbotsford. And you took my best PA away for what exactly?

**To: RULE63ME**

higher education? so she doesn't have to work all day in the rain for her entire life?

**From: RULE63ME**

>:[ don't go letting her think she has better options. I need at least one PA who isn't worthy of justifiable homicide. One of my new recruits left a propane tank open in video village this morning. We nearly blew up a Hallmark executive. 

**To: RULE63ME**

what a loss

**From: RULE63ME**

He's implemented a swear jar. Hasn't told us what he'll do with the money. Probably fund another TV Christmas movie set in WASPville, America. But anyway, what's the hot goss?

**To: RULE63ME**

carver's in luuuuv :)

**From: RULE63ME**

...

**To: RULE63ME**

with a giiiirrrrllll

**From: RULE63ME**

Unless you were about to drop a major plot twist just then I kind of figured. Anyone I know?

**To: RULE63ME**

;)))))

**From: RULE63ME**

Oh God.

**To: RULE63ME**

;)))))))))))

**From: RULE63ME**

It's not

**To: RULE63ME**

;))))))))))))))))))

**From: RULE63ME**

He does know she's gay right.

**To: RULE63ME**

..........???????

**From: RULE63ME**

I should have guessed I mean he looked like he wanted to kill her but that's also kind of his face.

**To: RULE63ME**

I am now confused

**From: RULE63ME**

Sera, right? Bela's friend? She got him with that bucket prank last time we all got together and he almost threw her out the window.

**To: RULE63ME**

NO, no, no?? no no ri it's merrill

**From: RULE63ME**

.....................*my* Merrill?

**To: RULE63ME**

...if anything she's my merrill

**From: RULE63ME**

Set family is the only family that matters. I'm her mentor. I'm training her. That's a bond a pleb like you could never understand.

**To: RULE63ME**

u trained me

**From: RULE63ME**

That's different, you're already my brother. And my twin. Cancels out. 

**To: RULE63ME**

:( well anyway yeah, that merrill, u should have seen it it was so cute

**From: RULE63ME**

Carver's always cute. A big cutie patootie. Since you're at his school I trust you take every chance available to tell him so. Esp in front of his jock friends.

**To: RULE63ME**

I try. but merrill!!!! and carver!!!!!!

**From: RULE63ME**

Hmmm.

**To: RULE63ME**

we'd get to have merrill as a sister in law

**From: RULE63ME**

You make a solid argument.

 

Garrett is halfway to the parkade, smirking as he texts Marian, when his phone goes off. He winces, and picks up. "Bela. You changed your ID name again."

" _You don't like "BigBootyBitch?_ ""

"Not when it's my sister's girlfriend calling, no."

" _You're the antithesis of fun, Garrett. Anyway, you're free this afternoon? It's not really a question, I know your schedule._ "

Garrett frowns. "I was planning to grade some papers..."

" _Sorry darling, you've got plans. Can you make it to Hightown Coffee on Water Street? Gastown? Say, in an hour?_ "

He should say no. He should absolutely say no.

He glances at the time, hates himself, and says. "Yeah. What's up?"

" _You've got a date. Hope you picked something clean to wear this morning._ "

Garrett stops dead, and is promptly taken out by an overeager first year sprinting to class.

Once all the necessary apologies are made ("I'm sorry-" "No, I should have watched where I was going-" "I was in the way, don't worry about it-"), Garrett collects himself and puts the phone to his ear again. "I have a fucking _what now?_ "

" _I'm sorry, were you just hit by a car?_ "

"Worse than that, a very fast teenager. But excuse me, we were talking about how I apparently have a date?"

" _I catfished on your behalf, like the good friend I am, and made a Tinder profile for you. You were very popular! I swiped some worthy candidates for you, then narrowed it down to people who weren't looking for a "big hairy bear to their cub._ " _No offence to bears and cubs, of course, but if anyone's the cub-_ "

"Bela-"

" _So get this, the man you're meeting today? Grad student, like you, only at UBC. And might I say, he is_ handsome _. Kind of posh-hipster, but not in an annoying way. He actually pulls it off, and if you're lucky, he might pull it off, if you know what I-_ "

"You realize that UBC and SFU are rival schools, right?" Garrett says sourly, brushing grass stains from his jeans. "You know the joke, right? "What do UBC and SFU students have in common? They both applied to UBC!" Pretentious-"

" _Now, see? You've turned it into Romeo and Juliet. All you have to do is show up. He knows what you look like, so I'd suggest getting there early so he has to find you. Things might get a bit awkward if it's the other way around._ "

"I never said I was going to do this," Garrett says, though in his mind he's already mapping out the fastest route to Gastown. _Like a loser._

" _We both know you will, though. Toodles, darling._ "

"Mother of God, Bela-"

Isabela hangs up, and Garrett is left staring at his phone, a little shellshocked. 

He's halfway down Hastings when he realizes he never got his date's name.

-

Hightown Coffee is exactly what you would expect from a coffee shop in Gastown. Only a few blocks away from one of the most troubled and impoverished places in the city, the Downtown East Side, Hightown rests just inside the bubble of gentrification surrounding the converted old Woodwards building, now owned by GoldCorp (in partnership with SFU). Garrett's only been to the downtown campus once or twice, and spent far more time at Harbour Centre than the university's Fine Arts building, but he's always thought the location is rather fitting. Pack a bunch of hipsters into a tower a block away from the BC Marijuana Party headquarters, conveniently close to half a dozen classy bistros and half a dozen trashy pubs, and you've pretty much got a burgeoning fine arts major's dream school. 

So he tosses Woodwards - now the "GoldCorp Centre for the Arts" - a brief nod as he passes, and continues on to Hightown.

It's almost a literal hole in the wall, easy to miss if one were to walk a little too fast, or blink. Inside, however, it's surprisingly roomy, all industrial chic with a distinctly expensive flavour. He guesses, without looking, that they have lavender lattes on the menu, and little pastel macarons delicately arranged on a Lazy Susan at the front counter.

He is correct on both counts, and rewards himself by buying both the latte and at least three macarons, both dine-in, half-afraid he'll grab the coffee and run if given the chance. The cashier is a friendly brunette named... Flissa? _Did they fuck up her nametag?_

"My shift's about done, but Fen'll get it to your table in a minute," Flissa says, handing Garrett his change, as well as a plate of macarons. "Sorry about the wait."

"No worries, I've barista'd before. Escape while you can," Garrett says, and Flissa laughs.

There's a recently-vacated table along a far wall, and Garrett scrambles to snatch it up before anyone else can. He sits, elbows on the table, and sends his seventh text to Isabela.

 

**To: BigBootyBitch**

What. Is. His. NAME. BELA. PLEASE.

 

Fuck it. Fuck everything. At least he gets lavender lattes out of this. And macarons. 

Gracefully shoving an entire vanilla bean macaron in his mouth, Garrett glances around the restaurant, taking in the patrons. The usual Vancouver crowd, a mix of dead-eyed students and forcibly grunged-up hipsters. A middle-aged couple chatting about American politics. The only guy who really stands out is the lucky bastard who snagged the window seat, though one glance tells him why - no one's going to argue with the enormous biker in a leather vest with patches, _Chargers_  scrawled across the back in stark white letters. He's got a rough buzzcut, half a dozen scars, and- sweet fuck, an _eyepatch_. Garrett is simultaneously impressed and afraid, even more so as he takes in the reading glasses and the newspaper in his hand. He's delicately sipping at whatever the fuck he's drinking, it looks like hot chocolate _with sprinkles_ , in a fine pink cup. 

Garrett's so busy staring that he doesn't notice the man approaching his table until he clears his throat, and says, "For you."

Garrett was knocked out by a wave in California once. He was fifteen, on a rare vacation with his family, the first time out of the country since the obligatory childhood Disneyland trip. He and Marian went bodyboarding while his mother watched the twins in the shallows, and it was going pretty well until he fell off his board halfway to shore, got his foot stuck in an old concrete post hole, and turned around to see a monstrous wave bearing down on him.

"Oh shit," he'd said, and instinctively raised his board to guard himself. Ironically, that's what knocked him out - the impact of the wave hitting the board, then hitting him square in the face. Marian ended up dragging him out of the shallows by the ankle, and he'd gone the rest of the trip with an impressive black eye that made it into all the family photos.

Garrett remembers the force of that wave smacking into him, if nothing else after that.

That's what it's like, hearing that voice. " _For you._ " Deep, a little rough, and tired, but polite. Posh. Garrett has honest to fuck _tingles_  from that voice. _Could it be...?_

He turns, and _sweet fuck_. 

If hearing his voice was like being hit by the wave, seeing the man attached to the voice is like being hit in the face with the board propelled by the wave. _Knockout._

He's... stunning, would be the word, and there's a lot to take in at once. Big green eyes, is Garrett's starting point, because they're very fucking pretty and he's always had a weakness for pretty eyes. White hair, black brows, and Garrett's about to admire his dedication to the look until he notices a few black strands in the white and a few white strands in his brows, indicating that the colour is natural. Which is odd, because the guy can't be older than thirty, possibly younger.  _It looks good on him._

The tattoos. White tattoos spilling down his chin, his neck, disappearing under his black collared t-shirt and reappearing on his arms, his fingers, stark against the brown skin. 

" _For you._ " The man's holding two coffees. One is lavender, the other is- Garrett doesn't care. Holy shit. _Isabela, you horrible, beautiful bastard._

Garrett realizes, belatedly, that the man is staring at him. Likely because Garrett is staring back, mouth still full.

"Are you my date?" Garrett asks. Or rather, "Ufh-oogh-aigh-ayf?"

(In hindsight, he should have swallowed first.)

Those perfect, heavy brows shoot up into gorgeous, frosty bangs. And- God in Heaven, he _blushes_. Just a little, barely noticeable, but it's there, and Garrett's heart is about to burst inside his chest.

So taken by the blush, he misses the man's words, and says, "Hmm?"

"I'm wearing an apron," the man says, for the second time, now looking adorably wrong-footed.

_It's okay honey, I love a man in an apron,_  is the first thing Garrett's traitor brain comes up with, a phrase that is very luckily stamped down by Garrett's slightly more reliable mouth. 

Apron. It's cute.

It's also got "Hightown Coffee" embossed across the front in gold lettering.

_Gold looks great on him,_  his brain thinks, followed far, far too late with, _Wait, what?_

It takes a while, and when it finally hits him, it's pretty fucking similar to that bitch-ass wave that knocked him out over a decade ago. Complete with black eye.

"Oh God," he says faintly.

The man looks down at the latte, looks up, and says, "Lavender latte?"

"Yes, though if you could throw in the sweet embrace of death, I'll tip extra," Garrett says, very much considering bolting anyway, even if he ordered his coffee dine-in. _Fuck the coffee. Fuck the macarons. Fuck the hot guy. Wait, fuck._

He expects the man to roll his eyes, or grimace, or have Garrett thrown out on the grounds of sexually harassing one of Hightown Coffee's employees.

Instead, he _laughs._ Very quietly, a low chuckle that's honestly more of a giggle, and Garrett feels that laugh like a fast-moving sunbeam working up from his toes all the way to the top of his head. 

"As much as I need the tips, I'm afraid the sweet embrace of death isn't on the menu, unless you order the quadruple shot macchiato," the man says, putting the coffee in front of Garrett, who can only stare.

_Are you on the menu?_  screams his traitor brain. Aloud, he says, "Thanks, and- sorry, again."

The barista shrugs. "I'll take it as a compliment."

_You should._

"I'm Fen, by the way."

_Fen. It suits you. Is it short for something?_

"Let me know if you need anything else."

_You. I could probably pick you up. That's so cute. Your lips are amazing. You look like you could murder a man. Amazing._

"Will do, buckaroo," Garrett says, his mouth not managing to catch that one in time. _Fucking traitor._

Fen snorts, only a little derisively, and makes his way to another table with the other drink in hand. Garrett watches him go.

Yeah. He watches him go, and though he's trying really hard to remember why he's here, all he can think about is how good those black skinny jeans look on the hot barista. He's lanky. Isn't he cold? It's starting to rain outside. Garrett could lend him his sweater-

_Focus, Garrett. You're not here for him._

He forces his attention on his coffee. Lavender. As it turns out, much tastier in theory than in practice.

A few minutes later, the man who is unmistakably His Date walks in, fitting every description Isabela gave him - _incredibly_  good-looking, posh-hipster, and yes, he pulls it off, right down to the ridiculous moustache. His fashion is impeccable, and the way he carries himself is full of strength and confidence, the kind of presence that captures the entire room.

Garrett thinks of the cute barista in his apron, leaning up on his toes, what those lips might feel like against his own. He does this with no small amount of guilt, especially as the man's eyes land on him and light up in unmistakable recognition.

It's a short walk to Garrett's table, during which Garrett stands and tries to put the barista from his mind. The man _is_  crazy handsome, after all. It shouldn't be hard.

_It is hard. He's wondering at how unexpected Fen's voice is, deep and rough behind almost delicate features. No, not delicate, those muscles in his arms meant business, even on the leaner side of things..._

"You must be-" starts Garrett's date, and Garrett cuts in with, "Garrett. Very nice to meet you."

_Please please please please-_

"Dorian," the man says, and Garrett breathes a sigh of relief. "Very nice place, this. I don't come to Gastown nearly enough. What are you drinking?"

It's not the words, so much as how he says them, but the man lives and breathes charm. Garrett's almost a little intimidated.

"Lavender latte," Garrett says. "Not really my thing, but I thought I'd try it."

"Adventurous! I like that," Dorian says, dark eyes twinkling. _Damn._  

Garrett is nearly suckered in by Dorian, his easy charm and good looks, when a certain green-eyed barista appears at his table and he's utterly fucked all over again the second Fen says, "Good afternoon. Can I get you anything?"

Garrett doesn't know what to do with his face. If he stares at Dorian, Fen might think he's ignoring him, like an asshole. If he looks at Fen, Dorian will think he's in love with their barista, on their date, like an asshole. 

So he does what any man stuck in an impossible situation like this one would do. He smiles at Fen, and Dorian, then starts a little in his seat like he's just gotten a text.

"Sorry, I should get this," he says, and goes to pull out his phone from his pocket.

A fruitless endeavour, as his phone is on the table, and very silent.

Both Fen and Dorian are staring at him now.

"Do you ever feel like you've gotten a text and you haven't?" Garrett says. "Like, you feel a buzz in your pants, but nothing's there? Ghost-text. Weird, right?"

Dorian blinks. Fen does not. Both seem a little thrown, and considering Garrett just mentioned "feeling a buzz in your pants," he doesn't blame either one of them.

"Uh," says Dorian, the first to recover. Fen isn't quite there yet, and Garrett occupies himself with his coffee to escape that intense green stare. "Do you happen to do espresso con panna here?"

"Yeah," Fen says absently, still staring at Garrett. Then, with a little shake of his head, he finally breaks away and says, "Um, yes. Single or double?"

"Double, if you will, and thank you," Dorian says. 

Fen nods, and is gone, leaving Garrett feeling very extremely sorry for himself. _I'm going to murder Isabela in her sleep._

"Well, we should start by addressing the elephant in the room," Dorian says gravely, clasping his hands.

Garrett's head snaps up, heart dropping. _Oh God. He figured it out. I'm an asshole._  "Oh?"

"I'm not sure I can see this going anywhere," Dorian says, then grinning, adds, "Given that you're from SFU."

_There is a God._

"Ah, the arrogance of a UBC elitist," Garrett says, willing his heart to slow the fuck down. "I was waiting for that."

"We work for that arrogance, dear boy," Dorian says, affecting an aristocratic tone with a sniff. "You know what they say about SFU students-"

"I know," Garrett says flatly, and Dorian laughs. "I also happen to know one of your _classier_  school chants, from the Engineering Department. How does it go again? "We are, we are, we are the engineers-?""

""We can, we can, demolish forty beers,"" Dorian finishes, smiling. "Technically, we stole that from MIT."

"Technically, that's plagiarism."

"Now who's being elitist?"

Garrett laughs.

Despite the rocky beginning, it goes far better than Garrett could have hoped. It's easy to keep the conversation rolling with Dorian, and the time passes quickly enough, and well.

Fen comes and goes, bringing coffee, checking on them. It could be Garrett's wistful imagination, but Fen seems far more guarded and crisp with Dorian than he is with Garrett, though as Garrett is making a conscious effort not to flirt with another man while on a date, he doesn't get to hear that laugh again. He's already certain Dorian's noticed his helpless glances, the way his head lifts a little when he hears Fen's voice, even across the café.

It's only an hour later that Garrett realizes Dorian hasn't noticed his interest in Fen, because he's sneaking some quick glances of his own.

As subtly as he can, he follows Dorian's gaze to- holy shit, the scary biker at the window seat. He's on his third hot chocolate and his second newspaper, now working on a crossword. He still looks like he could crush a man's skull in a single, enormous hand. 

Garrett looks back at Dorian, who looks like a wealthy prince from some millennia-old aristocracy, gracious and charming, quick-witted. Part of him can't begin to see it. The other part of him thinks it makes perfect sense.

And on the whole, he's a little relieved that Dorian isn't looking at him the same way he's looking at the biker.

"Listen," Garrett says quietly, leaning in. "You are one handsome son of a bitch, and God knows I want you to be my wingman at a party sometime, but I'm not getting the vibe that we'd work out together. You know?"

Dorian looks a little nonplussed, for a moment, then his face settles into something not too far removed from relief, which Garrett echoes in spades. "Yes, I believe you're correct. You're not too bad yourself, you know."

"Friends?" Garrett says, holding out his hand. "We could be the first step to bridging the gap between rival schools, you know."

"A lofty goal," Dorian says, and shakes Garrett's hand. "Friends, then."

"Great," Garrett says, sitting back. "As my first act as friend, then, I've got to ask- the biker guy?"

Dorian's eyes widen, his jaw dropping a little. Then he flushes, looking down at the table. "I- God. I thought I was being subtle."

"It took me a while," Garrett says, grinning. "Like what you see, there?"

"Intrigued, would be the word," Dorian says, frowning. "He's not my type."

"You never know until you try," Garrett says, shrugging, and gets to his feet.

Dorian grabs his wrist, and hisses, "What are you _doing?_ "

"Just using the washroom," Garrett says, innocently as he can. Dorian eyes him suspiciously for a moment, then releases Garrett's wrist.

Garrett promptly makes a beeline for the biker, faintly hearing Dorian whisper "you motherfucker" under his breath. 

Truth be told, Garrett's slightly terrified of approaching the guy. Praying to whatever deity out there that his Gaydar is in functioning order and he isn't about to get curb-stomped by a bigoted titan twice his size, Garrett moves between the tables until he's at the biker's side.

"Hey man," the biker says, not looking up from his crossword. "If you're going to tell me to back off your boyfriend, let me save you the trouble - he's not into you."

Garrett blinks. Twice.

"Um," he says, and follows with, "Actually, I was wondering if you wanted to switch tables."

Now the biker looks up, eyebrows - eyebrow? - raised.

Garrett presses on. "This was just a get-to-know-you thing, and we decided that, you know, friendship is magic and all-" _Well if he wasn't going to curb-stomp you before, he will now, genius,_ "-and I don't know, he seems into you. Thought I'd help him out a little and play wingman, you know?"

The biker looks at Dorian - face in his hands, the little skin that's showing behind them stained a bright red - and back to Garrett, and to Garrett's immense relief, he grins. "Well, now. I'm more than happy to take him off your hands, if he's alright with it."

"He said he's "intrigued," so make of that what you will," Garrett says. The biker laughs.

"Bull," he says, shaking Garrett's hand. "You're Garrett, I heard you introduce yourself earlier."

"You must have good hearing," Garrett says.

"It's okay," Bull shrugs. Lower, he says, "Listen, you seem like a real good guy. Can I offer some advice?"

"Sure," says Garrett, hoping it's body-building related because man, the guy is _shredded_.

Bull leans close and says, "The barista guy? Yeah, I saw you looking. I also saw the guy up close. He looks like someone who's been through some shit. He's a runner. He could hurt you real bad, and him? Well, you could hurt him back, is all I'm saying. I wouldn't recommend it."

Garrett stares at Bull, shocked by the words and the effortless honesty behind them. "How do you know?"

Bull shrugs again, something a little rueful tugging at his lips. "The life I've had, you either learn to look at people, or someone helps you disappear. Permanently. I've seen that look on people before - he's damaged."

"Isn't everyone?" Garrett says, before he can help himself. 

Bull quirks a wry smile, and says, "Some more than others, believe me."

He straightens to his full height - _holy shit, I'm a fucking hobbit,_  thinks Garrett - and rolls his shoulders, grinning. "Alright, I think we've tortured your friend over there long enough. Dorian, right?"

"Yeah," says Garrett, still turning Bull's words over in his mind. _Damaged._

"Sweet, thanks," Bull says, clapping him on the shoulder and shattering Garrett's kneecaps in the process. "Take it easy, yeah?"

"You too."

He watches for a moment as Bull goes to Dorian's table, taking a seat in Garrett's vacated chair. Given that Dorian is still hiding his face in his hands, Garrett's not entirely sure how this is going to go. 

Then Bull leans in and says something too quiet for Garrett to hear. Whatever it is, it startles a laugh out of Dorian, and coaxes him out from behind his fingers. 

So Garrett turns to leave, but not without risking one more glance at Fen.

Fen, as it turns out, is watching him, and for a moment Garrett can almost see what Bull is saying - there's an exhaustion around those pretty eyes that Garrett was too starstruck to notice earlier, a grim set to his mouth, his brows set low and stern. But he smiles a little, catching Garrett's eyes, and ducks his head in shyness or embarrassment, Garrett isn't sure, before turning to the espresso machine and getting back to work.

Outside, Garrett walks along the sidewalk, the rain turned to a fine spring mist, and he thinks.

Thinks back to an incident that happened- fuck, just over thirteen years ago now, back when he and Marian were fourteen. She'd run off to Guildford in the middle of the night with a few friends, and disappeared for almost a day. Leandra panicked, called Gamlen, called the school, called Aveline's parents, but not one seemed to know where she was. Finally at eleven o'clock the next night Marian was returned home in the back of a police car, high and more than a little drunk.

She'd sat there, quiet, arms crossed, as their mother shouted at her, then shouted at Gamlen for trying to shout at Marian. It was a mess. Marian wouldn't look at either of them, or Garrett, who stood silently aside, unsure of what to do.

"You will not tell me how to raise my daughter, Gamlen," Leandra had snapped, hair escaping her nighttime braid, hands on her hips. 

"I'm saying there's no point in just _talking_ to her, Leandra," Gamlen said. "I say, let her get arrested. See what jail looks like. Maybe that'll straighten her out."

"How _dare_  you-"

"You smothering her has done nothing but waste all our time, indulging her adolescent stupidity," Gamlen said. "Christ, it's not worth the effort. It's clear the girl is damaged goods."

The sound of Leandra's slap across Gamlen's face made Garrett jump. Even Marian looked up.

Then, eyes narrowing, she stood and stalked out of the room. Moments later, they heard her bedroom door slam down the hall.

Leandra watched her go, her eyes sad, then hardening as she turned back to her brother. "You _do not_  talk like that about _my_  daughter. Not ever. You will apologize to her tomorrow."

"I'll do no such thing-!"

"You will apologize, or I will cut you out of my children's lives so fast it will make your idiot head spin. Get out of my house."

Gamlen looked ready to argue, but after a long look at Leandra's furious expression, seemed to think better of it. Sullen, angry, and with Leandra's handprint reddening his cheek, he left.

Leandra waited for the front door to close, then sagged, looking exhausted. "Garrett-"

"I've got it," Garrett said quietly, and followed after Marian.

Marian was curled up on her bed, head buried in her knees, as Garrett carefully entered the room, closing the door behind him.

"Get the fuck out," Marian grunted, her voice muffled.

"Just me," Garrett said, picking his way across the room, nearly tripping on half a dozen books spread out across the floor, as well as a few sweaters and shirts.

"I don't care."

Garrett didn't answer. He sat on the edge of Marian's bed, and waited.

Eventually, Marian said, "I hate it that word."

"Which?"

"Damaged." Marian lifted her head, and Garrett felt his heart drop as he saw how red and watery her eyes were. _She'd been crying_. Marian never cried. "It's- I don't know. It's so dismissive, and final. Like if you crack a plate or something, it's over. Damaged goods wind up on the discount shelf, or in the trash."

Garrett didn't know what to say. So he listened, and he waited.

"I'm not a broken _thing_ ," Marian said, bitterly. "I heard a teacher tell another I was damaged, too, you know. "Oh, such a sad story, her father died, you remember Malcolm Hawke, don't you?" "Such a good man, such a shame about his daughter, I hear she used to be so bright-" They've already got it figured out in their heads who and what I am, you know? If I clean up, I'm their little inspiring success story that they get to claim a part of just for breathing around me. If I don't- well, they've already written me off anyway."

"Ri-" Garrett started, and Marian shook her head, shoving tears off her face with the palm of her hand.

"That's what you do with damaged goods, Gare," she said. "You write them off. Fuck, how did I get here?"

"In the back of a police car," Garrett said.

That startled a laugh out of Marian, and she relaxed out of her tight ball a little, letting her legs dangle off the bed.

Garrett reached over and grabbed a blanket, draping it over Marian's shoulders. She hugged it a little closer, sniffling.

"People don't get damaged, I don't think," Garrett said. "People get hurt, right? And they heal."

"Not always," Marian said quietly. "I know some people who were hurt... really bad. I don't think they're going to get better."

"But you don't know for sure," Garrett said. "You're right, damaged is a stupid word, because it's- permanent. And I think you can get hurt permanently, but... if you're hurt, there's always a chance. And there is always a chance. Anyone who writes you off is an idiot, Ri. Gamlen can go fuck himself."

"I think that's exactly what he's gonna go do," Marian snorted. Garrett made fake retching noises until Marian shoved him off the bed, laughing. 

No, Garrett rejected the idea of "damaged people" a long, long time ago.

_Maybe it's naive,_ he thinks, as he finds his car in the parkade and unlocks the doors. _Maybe I'm talking out my ass. I probably was back then, at any rate._

_But I'm not writing anyone off. Not yet. And especially, not anyone who looks that good in skinny jeans._

His phone buzzes - actually buzzes, this time, shaking him from his thoughts. He pulls it out of his pocket, checks the text, and groans.

 

**From: BigBootyBitch**

I think it started with a D? Oh well. Doesn't matter, if you fucked it up don't worry about it. I've got another one set up for you on Friday. Aren't I a good friend?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "It's adorable." That's what I said in the pre-chapter notes, remember? Get it? "It's Adoribull." God I'm clever. 
> 
> ANYWAY, TIME FOR UNNECESSARY CANADIANA/FILM SHIT!
> 
> \- Video Village: the tent where all the fancy on-set chairs for directors and execs go, as well as monitors so they can see what's actually being filmed. We use propane heaters on cold days, and they're annoying as fuck. My sister nearly lost her eyebrows using one once.
> 
> \- Gastown! It's a gorgeous area of Vancouver, right on the water. Unfortunately, it's also classic gentrification in action. To my understanding, when they decided to convert the old Woodwards building into a school, they realized the neighbourhood (right on the edge of the downtown eastside, I'll get to that in a minute) wasn't exactly a great place for students to be wandering around, especially ones who don't really have much in the way of street-smarts. So they built up the area, putting in fancy boutique stores that hell, I can't afford to even look at, they're all designer and high-end fashion. It's a weird mix of the grunge and decay of one of the oldest parts of the city, mixed with modern uber-expensive class. It's super interesting though, and there's a lot of antique stores around, so if you're ever in Vancouver get off at Waterfront Station and turn left when you get outside. Walk around. But if you're walking around at night, bring a friend or three.
> 
> \- I just realized I never explained the Skytrain! Think of the New York subway system, only way simpler, and in the sky. It's a train that runs on raised tracks that goes through Vancouver, Burnaby, Richmond, and New Westminster. Weird bullshit happens on the train, but you can't beat the view. It goes underground when you reach the city proper. 
> 
> \- The Downtown Eastside. It's honestly just... really sad. BC's got a lot going for it, but our social services are deeply, deeply lacking. Back in the... 80s or 90s, can't remember, a bunch of our mental health institutions closed down, the biggest being Riverview (which they now film everything in. The asylum episode of Supernatural? That was at Riverview. I used to live not far from there, I've driven through it, it's... it makes me uneasy. That's the general consensus. A lot of people claim it's haunted, and I'm of two minds about it; the first being the kind of gross tendency to "other" people with mental illness by associating it with horror, using asylums as an aesthetic rather than extending some compassion and understanding towards people who are mentally ill. The second being - I've been there, it's definitely haunted, holy shit is it ever HAUNTED. So, you know.) Basically, a lot of these people had nowhere else to go, and wound up downtown as part of the large population of homeless. The Downtown Eastside is where a lot of this poverty and homelessness is concentrated, and it's a horrible, bleak place. I used to take a bus through there almost daily, it's post-apocalyptic. A horrible percentage of homeless people in the Downtown Eastside are indigenous people, too. Anytime a Canadian starts bragging about how amazing our country is compared to the States, ask them about what we've done to our Native American people. Our hands are not clean.
> 
> \- ....ON A LIGHTER NOTE: the UBC/SFU rivalry. The University of British Columbia is harder to get into, and an internationally acclaimed institution. SFU is still considered to be a totally respectable awesome school, but because people are dicks, it's considered the second-choice school for academically-minded people. However, lots of people I met in my brief time at SFU never applied for UBC, so take that, academic snobs. It's a gorgeous campus though, so if you ever get the chance to visit, totally check it out. Bring a map, though, because you'll get lost.


	5. Doo Doooo, Doo Doo Doooo Doooo Dooooo...

According to posters hanging up in many production offices across the continent, there are seven stages of film production.

The poster is generally titled, "The Seven Stages of Film Production," and reads thusly:

 

**Stage 1** : Wild Enthusiasm

**Stage 2** : Total Confusion

**Stage 3** : Utter Despair

**Stage 4** : Search for the Guilty

**Stage 5** : Persecution of the Innocent

**Stage 6** : Promotion of the Incompetent

**Stage 7** : Distribution of T-Shirts

 

Marian is ninety percent sure they're still in Stage 4 by this point, so she holes herself up in an empty room three corridors down from set, and quietly works on drawing up tomorrow's maps and torturing as many siblings as she can manage by text in the space of five minutes.

 

**To: M!Hawke**

So I heard Bela's got a hot date lined up for you tomorrow, are you gonna hitch them up with a hot biker dude too?

**To: BethyBoo**

Please walk Kitty when you get home, and bring lots of plastic baggies with you - something's been making her a little "loose" if you catch my meaning. Love you <3

**To: Turkey**

How's the study DATE going? Learning lots? Have any questions? 

**To: Turkey**

Also if you pull any frat guy shit with her I'm going to tell her you were an extra on The Santa Clause 3 as a kid and I'll send her pictures of you in your little elf outfit. Get dunked on, kiddo. 

 

" _Man-ny, who's covering that door? Is anyone covering that door? Is there a reason why that door is opening when it shouldn't be?_ "

Marian rolls her eyes at the massacre of Mahanon's name. No one has been able to convince Seggrit that "Manny" is not "basically the same," and by this point Mahanon seems like his spirit is far too broken for him to care.

" _There is someone on that door. Will, go two please._ "

Marian switches channels, cutting off Seggrit's fourth rant of the afternoon. 

" _Will, are you on two?_ "

A pause.

" _Will?_ "

A slight plea in Mahanon's voice this time.

" _I know half of you are on two right now, does anyone have eyes on Will?_ "

" _I'm not close to him, but I see him. He's kind of wandered off from the door, I think he's talking to someone from BG._ "

That's Ritts, an incredibly crafty PA that Marian has her eyes on - both for potential recruitment into her pool of reliable hires, and in case she makes off with the silverware. 

(Literally. There's silverware in this scene.)

Sighing, Marian pulls out her phone, scrolls through the PA contact list, and dials Will's number. He picks up on the second ring.

" _What's up, boss?_ " Will says smoothly, doubtless trying to impress whatever poor background actress he's lassoed into talking to him.

"Get back to your goddamn lock-up, and listen to your radio," Marian says. "Are you on channel one?"

A beat, then Will says very quietly, " _I- I forgot to switch back from five._ "

"It happens. Walk away from your lock-up again and I will hold you personally responsible for whatever horrible thing happens next on this set whether it's your fault or not. A light malfunctions, an actor gets salmonella, I'll say it was you. Got it?"

" _Y-yes, Marian._ "

"Wonderful. Check in with Mahanon and please pronounce his name right, very clearly, on channel one. Any chance you get."

" _Will do._ "

Marian hangs up, and switches channels on her walkie again. A very sheepish voice comes on to call " _MA-HA-NON_ " to channel two. For a moment, all is well with the world. 

"Knock knock," says a voice at the door, pairing it with two knocks.

"Who's there?" Marian mutters, her eyes back on her maps.

The door opens, revealing a striking woman in her early thirties with dark red lips, auburn hair, and a scarred face. She looks familiar, but not familiar enough for Marian to have any idea who the fuck she's looking at.

"I should have come with a good joke prepared," the woman says, smiling. "Alaine Rutherford. You're Marian Hawke?"

Marian frowns. The name sounds familiar too, though she doesn't have nearly enough caffeine in her system to connect it with anything coherent. "Last I checked, I was."

"Well, that's better than most on this set," Alaine says, stepping into the room. "I hear it's been a rough week for you guys."

Marian's eyes slip from Alaine's face to her left arm, which ends just below her elbow. When she catches Alaine's eyes again, she's grinning wryly.

"Lost track of it on the way here," Alaine says dryly, lifting the stump. 

"I hate it when that happens," Marian says. "I think I left my brain at home this morning."

Alaine chuckles, and takes a seat in a nearby chair. "With your job, that's probably a bonus. How exactly did they rope you into ALMing again?"

Marian frowns. "Sorry?"

"Last I heard, you've been production coordinator on a few minor shoots now. Production manager on that SyFy miniseries in January. It looked like an office trajectory to me."

Marian sighs, running a hand through her short hair. "I guess I needed a break? I don't know. I like problem solving more than I like paperwork. Not that this job doesn't have shit tons of paperwork."

"Or that office work doesn't have shit tons of problem solving," Alaine says.

"You're not wrong," Marian says. "The LM on this shoot - Athenril - I worked for her a lot when I was starting out. She kind of begged me to take the job."

"Favours for friends," Alaine says, nodding. "I get that."

" _Cut! Manny, we're hearing noise by Video Village, people talking._ "

" _It's the executive producer, sir._ "

" _...Copy._ "

Marian turns down her walkie, as Alaine casts it a rueful look. "Poor kid."

"He's pretty tough, but a little too nice, honestly," Marian says. "He's a hair's width from letting people walk all over him."

"He's always been like that," Alaine says. "Ever since he was a kid."

Marian squints. "Eh?"

"I didn't see him very often, his side of the family was in England, but he's my cousin," Alaine says. "He didn't tell you?"

Marian blinks, utterly lost. "Why would he-?"

It comes to her in a flash. The scars, the missing arm, the name. Only when Marian last heard of Alaine, her surname was Lavellan.

Alaine Lavellan, a stunts actress who worked for several large film franchises and even starring in a short-lived sci-fi series of her own in the mid-2000s, whose career was cut short by an accident on set - explaining the scars, and the arm. Marian remembers hearing about it on the news, and later about Alaine's work with Ferelden Pictures as an associate, then executive producer on several successful projects. _Recently married to fellow producer, Cullen Rutherford._

Hence the name change, and how Alaine was able to walk into set without anyone kicking her out. _Also, I'm a moron._

"Mahanon is your cousin?" Marian says, stowing her slightly starstruck thoughts for later, when Alaine would be out of the room. She's been in the industry for a while - long enough not to be fazed by big names (though she did nearly break when she walked into Vanessa Hudgens on one of her first shows). 

"Yes, and a talented actor back home," Alaine sighs, propping her elbow up on Marian's desk and balancing her chin in her palm. "Theatre, mostly, but he did a few parts on some BBC shows. I'm still not sure why he hopped on a plane here to do PA work, of all things. I've been trying to get him to start auditioning again."

"I... huh," Marian says, now utterly thrown by both Alaine's presence and these unexpected revelations about Mahanon. _Also, the fact that Alaine Lavellan seems to have memorized my IMDB page._  "He never mentioned."

"You don't get by in this industry on merit, you do it on connections," Alaine says. "I didn't even know he was moving out here until his mother talked to my mother about it three weeks ago. I guess he's trying to "go his own way," but... it really doesn't make much sense." Alaine shakes her head. "Anyway, I'm not here to talk about my cousin, though if you're breaking for lunch soon I'd love a chance to harass him in person."

"Crew lunch is in an hour, so it'll be a bit of a wait," Marian says.

Alaine shrugs. "I've got some e-mails to see to anyway, might as well do it here. Look, Marian, I was wondering if you've signed on to any projects after this clusterfuck wraps up."

Marian blinks. "I... no, not yet."

Alaine grins. "Excellent. You worked with a good friend of mine, Cassandra Pentaghast, in October. She was executive producer on that Free Marches feature you coordinated. The way she tells it, you practically swooped in and saved the whole production."

Marian raises her eyebrows. "The Free Marches feature gave me at least six premature grey hairs."

"And it's been nominated for _several_  Leo Awards, as well as a few more overseas and in the States," Alaine says. "When everyone bailed, you were the one who pulled everything back together. You knew who to call. A good reputation is everything, and love you or hate you, no one seems able to deny that you're good at what you do."

"I'm incredibly flattered," Marian says, leaning back in her chair. "And... wondering if this is a ramp up to a job offer?"

"You catch on fast," Alaine says, hazel eyes twinkling. "Have you heard anything about a book series called _Inquisition?_ "

Marian fights a grin, thinking of last Hallowe'en, and Garrett's attempt to pull together a costume based off the Inquisitor. There was a lot of tinfoil involved. "Rings a bell."

"With the success of the whole _Game of Thrones_  thing, there's a major cable company looking for a fantasy series to compete," Alaine says. "We've got writers working with the author to put together a pilot episode. It's on its... fuck, probably hundredth draft by now, but we're pretty much set to start getting the production rolling. I want to make sure that our office has innovative, competent people, and given how busy it is, it's getting difficult to snatch the right people up."

Marian feels a faint buzzing in the base of her skull she associates with impending big life decisions. Her instinct is very rarely wrong in this respect. 

"What would you like me to do?" she says.

"Production management," Alaine answers.

Marian half-expects her eyeballs to drop out of her head. As calmly as she can manage, she echoes, "Management?"

"This thing is going to be big, and it's going to be hell," Alaine says. "You're sharp, but more than that, you're creative. You have an innate sense of which rules to bend, which to break, and which to beat people over the head with. You're young, certainly, but I like to think I know talent when I see it. You could do amazing things for us."

No, Marian has not had enough coffee today. She's either asleep right now, or hallucinating. Either way it's unsettling, nerve-wracking.

_Exciting. Stupidly so_.

"I- huh," Marian says, clearing her throat. "I would have to be an idiot to say no."

"I'm certain you'll think differently when you see the mountain of work ahead of us," Alaine says dryly. "Something to think about before committing, though; if we get picked up, we'll likely be moving production to the UK. We've been told that's where the network wants us to wind up, but it's cheaper for now to film here, if the pilot doesn't pan out. If it does... we wouldn't want to have to hire another production manager, obviously, so we would want you to move with us."

Marian's head starts to spin. _Moving to the UK? Moving away from Vancouver?_

"I'll do it," Marian finds herself saying, her brain struggling to catch up. "The pilot, I mean. And... I'll have to talk things over with my family, but- yes."

_I can always quit later, if the show gets picked up - tank my reputation, sure, but I'll find another job. I always do._

"Let us know how that goes," Alaine says, smiling. She reaches across the table and shakes Marian's hand, standing. "Well, I should get going. I'm certain I've taken up enough of your time already. Oh, I'll leave you my card - e-mail me your contact information as soon as you're able."

"I will," Marian says, still feeling a little dazed. "Thank you."

-

"You have to stop _doing_  this!"

Garrett languishes along the kitchen counter, his face in his hands, as Isabela and Bethany pore over Isabela's phone, examining tomorrow's date. Garrett refuses. He _refuses_. 

(He can't stop thinking about a guy who happens to look _fucking amazing_  in skinny jeans, who can probably beat Garrett up, because short people are always naturally angry. But he was also so calm and polite, with that _voice_... Garrett wants to buy that voice a fancy dinner and lead it up to a hotel suite over a path of rose petals. He wants to give that voice a financially secure future with 1.5 kids and a mortgage. He wonders how much the man attached to that voice likes cuddling.)

"I think you're being rather ungrateful, honestly," Bethany says, raising an eyebrow. "This guy has sort of a rugged handsomeness. And he's French."

"French or Quebecois?" Garrett grumbles, not raising his head. 

"Montreal," Isabela says, and Garrett groans. "Now, no judging before you meet him, there are many lovely people from Montreal."

"My favourite teacher was from Montreal," Bethany says.

"Two of my favourite students are from Montreal, and believe me, the language gap has been a little hard to breach at times," Garrett says.

"I thought you spoke French," Isabela says.

"I do," Garrett says. "They don't. They speak _Quebecois._ "

"His name is Emile, and I'm sure the two of you are going to get along just fine," Bethany says. To Isabela, she says, "Where are you having them meet?"

"Same place as last time," Isabela says. "Hightown. It's not a place Garrett frequents, so the chance of awkward encounters outside of the dates themselves is kept minimal. Oh, look at that, Garrett's smiling."

Garrett immediately wipes the grin from his face, feeling his cheeks heat up. _What are the chances I'll come in during Fen's shift, anyway?_  "Am not."

"You are, it's very cute to see you so excited."

"I'm _not-_ "

"Dost my brother protest too much?" Marian says, entering the room and giving Isabela a quick kiss on the cheek. "Thank you for babysitting him in his time of need, babe."

"Oh, I enjoy it, really," Isabela says, wrapping an arm around Marian's waist. "Anything exciting happen at work?"

"Not particularly," Marian says airily. "Who's the new date, then?"

Garrett blinks, and trades a look with Bethany. Judging by her narrowed eyes, she caught Marian's tone as well. _Something is definitely up._

"Some Quebecois guy," Bethany says, looking back to Marian. Garrett nods, vowing to interrogate Marian later, when they have a moment to themselves. "A businessman, so hey, money."

"Oh, if Garrett's looking for a sugar daddy, I'm certain I could find much better options," Isabela says, grinning. Garrett groans. 

The air suddenly fills with the dulcet tones of _Yakety Sax_ , and Marian pulls out her phone, answering it and promptly setting the call to speakerphone. "Hey, Carver. How'd the date go?"

" _It wasn't a- shit, am I on speakerphone?_ "

"Yeah."

" _Marian, if you could stop being the worst for like, thirty seconds, I'd really appreciate it. Who's all listening in?_ "

"Hey, Carvey-poo," Isabela says.

"Hey sibling," Bethany says.

" _Let's go Wildcats!_ " Garrett shouts.

" _Mother of God._ "

"It's fine, Carver, we're all friends here," Marian says, grinning. "What's up?"

" _Can I please not do this over speakerphone?_ "

"Think of it as having a consensus, or something," Bethany says sympathetically. "We're all here for you."

"To humiliate you," Isabela says sweetly.

"To support you Isabela in her goal of humiliating you," Garrett says helpfully.

" _I hate all of you. Marian, look, it's about- shit, if anyone says anything I'm driving over there and punching Garrett in the face, it's about Merrill._ "

"Why me specifically?" Garrett says.

" _Because I'm not a douche, I don't hit girls._ "

"I'll shelve my feminist lecture on this particular topic for another time, and say: please punch Garrett instead of one of us," Bethany says. 

"What's wrong with Merrill?" Marian asks, frowning.

" _Look, she really downplayed it, so don't take it like she was complaining or something, but- have the guys on set been giving her a hard time? She mentioned a guy from transport and she looked... nervous._ "

Garrett looks up at this, concerned, and sees Marian wince. "I've been keeping an eye on it. So far the guy hasn't crossed any boundaries that Merrill can use in a case against him, and I've told the transpo captain to get his shit together. Unfortunately that's just how girls are treated in film, but believe me, I'm not taking it lying down."

" _That's stupid. That's so stupid._ "

"Yeah."

"Really sweet that you're concerned for her, though," Isabela says, smiling. 

" _It's just so fucking dumb. She's just- nice, okay?_ " A pause, then Carver says, " _She said this show is wrapping soon, but do you have any other projects happening this summer?_ "

Marian's face does an odd little jump at this, then she says, "Yeah, but I won't be ALM. I won't control the hiring process."

" _But maybe you know someone who will. She needs the money because she's putting herself through school- fuck, maybe I shouldn't have said that. Look, is there any way you can get us hired on to the same show?_ "

Marian's eyebrows disappear into her hair, and she says, " _You_  want to work on set?"

" _Yeah, I need a job anyway-_ "

"Carver, the last time I brought you on set to work you said you'd rather be kicked in the face by a rabid horse than do it again. I remember because it was an oddly specific visual image."

" _Yeah, well, there's free food, and that way I can make sure Merrill's safe._ "

"It's a sweet sentiment, but you're only adding to the problem if you're following her to work so you can hit on her."

" _Jesus, Marian, I'm not a fucking asshole, I won't. I just- look, you and Bethany have beat this crap into me since I was five, I know assholes are more likely to listen to me than the girls they're being assholes to. Fuck, I'll run interference for all the girls. I'm just- worried._ "

Marian bites her lip, and looks around the kitchen. "Thoughts?"

"I trust him," Bethany says instantly. "Obviously, because he's my brother and all, but also because he's right, he does know this shit. I think we're a little hard on him sometimes because, you know, jock and all, but I think this is sweet. And probably good for Merrill, too."

"Merrill is a ray of oddly gothic sunshine in a world devoid of light and colour," Garrett says. "I've seen what film has done to you, Ri, and you're an iron lady to begin with. Merrill is too precious for that industry. I say, let Carver do the thing."

"It's adorable," Isabela says. "And anyway, we started off as an on-set romance, why deny the kids these days the chance for some good old on-set fuck-?"

"That seems like a yes all around," Marian cuts in quickly, as Garrett and Bethany wince. Isabela just smiles, catlike and self-satisfied. "Alright, Carve, I'll see what I can do. And... you're a good guy, for thinking of this."

" _Yeah, well, don't all rush to compliment me at once,_ " Carver grumbles. " _Let me know how it goes, I'll be completely free a week or two from now. I'll text you. I'm going to bed now, so goodnight Bethany, and everyone else can fuck right off, essentially._ "

"Love you too," Garrett says. There's a beep, and the call ends.

Marian looks at the phone for a long moment, then stores it in her pocket with a shake of her head. "The next show I'm doing doesn't go into production for... fuck, a couple of months, probably. I'm sure I can talk to someone in the meantime."

"What's the show?" Bethany asks.

"Big pilot for a cable network," Marian says, a little too smoothly. "I'll... tell you guys more about it when I know more. Non-disclosure agreements, and all."

"Sure," Garrett says, his tone neutral. _What the hell are you hiding, Marian?_

"Well, I'm going to bed, too," Bethany says, stretching with a yawn. "Early morning tomorrow. Bela, could you pick out Garrett's outfit? He's just going to wear red plaid and boots if we let him choose it himself."

"There's nothing wrong with plaid!" Garrett protests, as Bethany waves goodnight and disappears from the kitchen. "Ri, you wear at least as much plaid as I do, back me up here."

"There is no possible way I could _own_  as much plaid as you wear," Marian says dryly. "And anyway, I'm gay. It's kind of a uniform."

" _I'm_  gay!"

"No one would know it by your fashion sense, dear," Isabela says, arching an eyebrow. "I mean, good for you, defying the stereotypes, but you really do look more like a lumberjack than a TA. Not to worry, I'll find something."

" _Do not_ go in my room," Garrett pleads, as Isabela smacks Marian's ass on her way out of the room, cackling. 

Marian rolls her eyes with a smile, and is about to leave, when Garrett reaches over the counter and grabs her arm. "Ri... what's really going on?"

Marian's eyes widen a little, startled, then she looks away. "Like I said, it's... a big pilot for a cable network."

"And?"

"And I might have to move, afterwards. To, um- the UK."

Garrett's grip on Marian's arm slackens, his lips parting in shock. "Shit."

"Yeah." Leaning close, Marian says, "Please don't tell Isabela. Or- really, anyone yet. I haven't made any decisions, not really."

"You're going to have to tell her  _before_  you leave," Garrett says. "And mom, and- Ri, you're not- you aren't running away again, are you?"

" _Of course_  I'm not running away," Marian hisses, eyes narrowing. "It's a career thing, Garrett. I just- I'm not ready to have this conversation with Bela. It's too soon. I don't know how long I'll be gone, or what I'll be doing- fuck I don't know anything. I don't want to start asking these questions yet, okay?"

"Like whether or not she'll be going with you," Garrett says.

Marian runs a hand through her short hair, frowning. "Yeah. Like that."

"Shit."

"Yeah. So please, just... don't tell anyone yet. I have to think."

Garrett bites his lip, and nods. "Alright. And- sorry, for um. Bringing up the runaway thing. Low blow."

Marian shakes her head. "It's fine. I get it, I haven't exactly been... not flaky. I just feel like I've finally settled into whatever kind of life this is, and now it's just..."

She waves a hand helplessly.

"Can I ask what this big pilot is, at least?" Garrett says. "I _know_  you know, you're a good liar but I'm a better lie-detector."

Marian looks at him a long moment, and sighs. "Okay, promise you're not going to freak out on me?"

"I'm a very calm, unexcitable person. This is a no freak-out zone."

"Great." Marian folds her arms, and says, "So, you know _Inquisition?_ "

(They later have to explain Garrett's loud squeal of excitement away as the result of a stubbed toe.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If the chapter title is confusing, hum the first phrase of the Inquisition theme, and you'll get it.
> 
> Sorry for the long wait on this chapter, it was really dragging in places and I was just kind of suffering eternally trying to set it all up. Next chapter is way more romcom shenanigans than film politics, I promise. 
> 
> Also, I'm 90% sure this is not how hiring for big cable shows happens, but I asked my sister "hey if Hawke were in film, what job would they have" and she said production manager so I mean. The powers that be have spoken. And I really wanted to bring Alaine in too because I love her. 
> 
> A non-disclosure agreement is a thing we have to sign to promise we aren't gonna spill shit about what we're working on to the press, because man, that shit gets you blacklisted so damn fast it's not even funny. The Seven Stages of Film Production is a real thing, btw, and I had to include it both because it's hilarious and sadly true. 
> 
> I had a bit of a poll on my Tumblr asking who Garrett should go on awkward dates with in the next chapter, and a good lot of people voted Emile, so I'm throwing him in first. If you still want to add suggestions, check out the post at foxnonny.tumblr.com under the Heart Says Go tag. Even if I don't use your suggestion, I'm crediting everyone who contributed ideas in the next chapter.
> 
> I'm also going to start trying to update on a weekly basis, either Saturday nights or Sundays, so eyyy. As always I live for comments and kudos, and I love you all <3


	6. Sexual Histories and Super Hot Mysteries

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HA HA HA DID I SAY REGULAR WEEKEND UPDATES CLEARLY I MEANT "MORE THAN OCCASIONALLY LIFE DICKS ME OVER SO THAT'S PROBABLY NOT GONNA HAPPEN." However I AM going to try to get out a chapter per week - which day, specifically, is judged by the alignment of the planets and how well I can type with shaky fingers during a double caffeine high (which, a person with ADHD and crazy bad anxiety probably should not drink the amount of coffee I do. Clearly I laugh in the face of mental health. Or more like, "when you work in the arts for money you caffeinate or die.")
> 
> So NEXT chapter is going to be the 80s montage of bad Tinder dates I've been wanting to write since day one, but this chapter was getting long. All credits to the lovely people leaving suggestions for Hawke to suffer dates with will go on the next chapter as a result, meaning if you have a red hot idea you still have time to get it in!! Go now to foxnonny.tumblr.com and CAST YOUR VOTE, AMERICA/(Canada)/(wherever the fuck else people are reading this ilu all). Thank you to everyone (which btw was a LOT of people) who voted Emile, and I promise you will get the credit you are due in the next chapter. Because I love you.

It's raining in Gastown when Garrett pushes open the door to Hightown, drenching the admittedly nice outfit Isabela hauled from his dressers the night before. He didn't even know he _had_  this shirt, a collared white button-down with a little embroidery along the sleeves. This is hidden under a leather jacket, now, though he can feel the dampness all the way down his back from where water seeped in along his spine. 

The café itself is decently full, but quiet. It's late enough on a Friday evening that most have retreated to restaurants and bars by now. Garrett is glad for the calm atmosphere, and glad that he came early when he peeks around the espresso machines and sees a shock of white hair just below the counter, rising up into view with a jug of milk in hand.

A jug of milk which Fen promptly drops as he locks eyes with Garrett, startling back a little, and Garrett realizes that looming ominously over a coffee machine scarcely a foot away from someone's face isn't exactly the _best_  way to say hello.

"Sorry," Garrett says sheepishly, stepping back as Fen bends back down to retrieve the milk. "I didn't mean to, um, be creepy."

"You weren't," Fen says quickly, reappearing from behind the espresso machine, and _bless,_ he's blushing a little again. "I- I suppose I'm a little clumsy today. One moment."

Garrett steps over to the cash register, still feeling like an enormous idiot as Fen does whatever he needs to do with the milk before joining Garrett at the front counter, his cheeks still a bit pink.

"Um," says Fen, poised to take Garrett's order, "is this to go, or-?"

Garrett winces. "Nope. Er. I've got a date."

Fen seems to abandon his embarrassment at this statement, raising an eyebrow. "The same one who took off on the back of an enormous biker's Harley?"

"Oh, did he? That's adorable!" Garrett says, only causing that eyebrow to lift a little higher. _God, his eyes are pretty._ "No, um, this is- someone else. A Quebec guy, Montreal."

"You speak French?" Fen asks, tilting his head.

" _Ouais, mais c'est terrible_ ," Garrett says, not at all offended by Fen's wince at his horrible accent. "You?"

" _Yon sèl lang se janm ase_ ," Fen says, and it sounds reflexive. He almost seems a little surprised by his own response.

Garrett blinks at the words, and says, "That's... French, but what dialect-?"

"Ah, Haitian," Fen says, frowning a little. " _Créole_. "One language is never enough." I knew someone who spoke it, once. Very long ago." He shakes his head, and says, "So, another date? I mean no offence by that, I'm just wondering if I should tell Flissa to start advertising on Tinder as a hot meet-up spot."

Garrett laughs, noting that Fen seems eager to change the subject from French. _Odd_. "I promise I'm not a serial dater, or- whatever this must look like, Lord help me. My friend is catfishing people on my behalf because she seems to think I need to get laid."

"Do you?" Fen asks, looking up.

There's an odd moment, as Garrett looks down into those enormous green eyes, and Fen looks up at him, and Garrett swears he can hear _Careless Whisper_ playing somewhere.

No, he's not imagining it. This café's Spotify playlist just happens to have _wicked_  fucking timing. It's all Garrett can do not to vault the counter and complete what is clearly the perfect opening to some kind of unholy gay coffeeshop porno. _Bend me over that espresso machine and call me Verona Blend, baby_. 

"I-" Fen says, his voice sounding a little strangled. He breaks away on a cough, his eyes wide, his cheeks flushed again. "Sorry, that- that was an incredibly- I'm sure you don't _need-_  unless you want to. But I'm not-" Now Fen is glowering at the counter as if it, personally, is responsible for all the ills of the world. "I believe last we spoke you wondered if we served the sweet release of death."

"Still a no-go on that one, huh?" Garrett says sympathetically. _It's okay baby, I'll get a blanket, wrap you up in it. Bring you hot chocolate. I'll add sprinkles! Just say the word._

"Unfortunately," Fen says, his gaze still fixed on the counter.

" _I feel so unsure, as I take your hand and lead you to the dance floor..._ "

"Well-" says Garrett loudly, trying to drown out the music.

"So-" says Fen, likely with similar intent. 

They stare at each other for a long moment, both seeming stunned by how incredibly awkward the situation as become.

" _Something in your eyes, calls to mind a silver screen and sad goodbyes..._ "

"You first," Fen says, a little weakly.

"That's not fair," says Garrett.

"You're the customer," says Fen.

"Shit," says Garrett, and continues with, "I was going to say, um- well, I guess it has been a while. Two years."

Fen blinks. "Since-?"

"Oh God," says Garrett. "Since I dated. Which actually, um, technically I guess is sort of the same as getting laid- I mean there was a night, last year, I think, but I don't think we-" Garrett wants to die. "Anyway, there's just cause for catfishing, as you can probably see why, because it's really best that there is someone else holding conversations for me at all times."

"I wouldn't-" Fen starts, and then shuts up, which is really very upsetting because Garrett would _love_  to know where that was going to go. "I- well. I wish you very good luck, with the... date."

"Thanks," Garrett says, and still wants to die. He considers faking a heart attack so he at least has an excuse to stop talking, and hopefully attractive paramedics to carry him out and away from this fresh hell. _And maybe Fen will try CPR, a little mouth-to-mouth... that man can break my ribs to try to restart my heart any time._ "Um, so what were you gonna say, then?"

Fen blinks again, and says, "I... was going to ask for your drink order."

"Not my sexual history, then."

"No, I've moved past that, I think."

"Fuck. Okay. Um, I'll have-" Garrett has no fucking idea what he's going to have, "-something with cinnamon."

Fen purses his lips, and says, "Is a cinnamon latte alright, then?"

"A cinnamon latte would be fucking ace."

Fen snorts at that, and moves over to the espresso machine, leaving Garrett standing there with his wallet out. "Uh-"

"It's on the house," Fen says, his eyes fixed on his work. "And, sorry, I don't think I ever caught your name."

"Holy shit, really? Sorry. Um. Hawke. Well, Garrett Hawke."

Fen smirks at the milk steamer, and says, "Bond, James Bond?"

"You make it sound much more suave than I did. Have you thought about voicing movie trailers?"

" _In a world..._  where actors generally make coffee for people more than they get work in their desired field? No, I have not," Fen says, and _shit,_  Garrett is still considering vaulting the counter because when Fen dropped his voice to mock that movie trailer tone Garrett's pretty sure half his brain melted into a puddle of _take me now._  

"The film industry doesn't know what it's missing," Garrett finds himself saying, maybe sounding a little _too_  smitten but fuck, he can't help it.

Fen glances up at him, looking a little startled, then he smiles with a touch of shyness and laughs. "That's kind of you to say. You should find a table, Hawke. I'll bring this out to you in a moment."

_Hawke._  Garrett feels a tingle crawl up his spine at that. He likes it. 

If Marian heard anyone call him that, of course, she'd never stop making fun of him. But Marian isn't here. 

He sits down at the table he found last time, liking the location of it - he's able to see the door, the window, the other patrons, and at this angle he can see Fen working behind the counter. 

He's aware that he's ogling, of course, but he does it in sidelong glances, hoping the barista doesn't notice. He seems far too wrapped up in his work - biting his lip, a little frown over his eyes, those white tattoos stark against the brown skin of his arms as his shirtsleeves are rolled up to his elbows. He blows a little hair out of his eyes, and then - _Lord,_  he's bending over to grab something, and Garrett's mouth goes dry-

"You are Garrett?"

Garrett snaps to attention to see a ginger man a year or two younger than himself looking down at him with a sort of befuddled look on his face. He has to squint to see the resemblance between this guy and the profile picture off of Tinder Isabela showed him last night - this man has significantly thinner hair, and a kind of keen desperation in his eyes that immediately makes Garrett want to flee. 

"Yep," says Garrett, and decides that he's not going to be a prick, at the very least.

"Great," says Emile, and sits, twiddling his thumbs a little nervously. "I am Emile. You're a TA? What's that like?"

"Pretty fun," Garrett says, trying not to eye Emile's thumb twiddling too obviously. First dates can be nerve-wracking, Lord knows, but this guy looks like he's about to try to assassinate the prime minister by the way his eyes keep skittering about the room. "Um, what do you do?"

"Ah, this and that," Emile says with a chuckle, and _Christ,_  the wave of alcohol that comes off him is intense. "I work for a... non-profit business. Or, I did. Now I am a free man!"

Garrett is starting to wonder if this guy broke out of jail.

A latte is placed in front of Garrett, and he looks up to see Fen standing there, his face neutral as he looks down at Emile but with one eye... twitching, slightly. "Is there anything I can get for you, sir?"

"What? No, no," Emile says, waving Fen off without looking at him. "I'm fine, you can go."

The eye twitch becomes significantly more pronounced, and Fen casts Garrett a brief look before whisking himself away. Garrett fights the urge to beg him to stay. 

Garrett takes a long sip of his coffee, which- _holy shit, it's delicious_ , and as he does so Emile stares at him a little too openly. 

"Okay, I gotta ask," Garrett says, putting his coffee back down. "Are you doing okay, man?"

"I'm fine!" Emile says, a little too quickly. "It's just- are you really gay?"

It sort of feels like the coffeeshop comes to a standstill, at this. Certainly out of the corner of his eye Garrett can see Fen freeze in place behind the counter, his eyes wide as he stares at a bag of coffee beans. 

"I'm- um, bi, technically," Garrett says, not entirely sure where this conversation went so incredibly wrong, exactly. 

"But you have sex with men?" Emile presses intently. 

Fen seems to give up the pretence of finding the bag of coffee beans shocking and appalling, and turns his head to stare at Emile instead. Emile doesn't notice.

"I- I mean not every day, um-" Garrett rubs his temple, utterly nonplussed. "I'm sorry, I'm confused, did you want a resumé of sexual experiences, or-?"

"No, no, it isn't necessary," Emile says, but given that the man seemed to think it was a genuine question rather than a rhetorical one, Garrett is hardly comforted. "I just- I've never had sex with a man before. Hell, until yesterday, I've never had sex! It's wonderful! Isn't it wonderful?"

Garrett does not know what to do with this information. So he stares.

"Look, I- I was a priest. I was going to be a priest! But I realized a month ago, I haven't really _lived!_ " Emile puts his face in his hands. "I just- I sat down at a computer one day, went on the Youtube, and went through so many videos of people _living..._  my old mentor used to describe this city in particular as a hotbed of crime and sin, and I realized- that's where I had to be! That maybe all this sin is just _fun,_  and maybe God wouldn't care so much. So I want to try everything, all at once, as soon as I can!"

It's actually a very inspiring speech. Garrett is certainly moved.

As is, presumably, every other person in the café, now staring at the pair of them like this is a piece of public performance art rather than a Tinder date gone horribly awry. Given that this is Vancouver, it's an understandable mistake to make. 

"That's... awesome," Garrett says truthfully, more than a little stunned. "Um. Only, I'm not really looking for a one night stand..."

Emile blinks at him, then his face shifts to something akin to pity.

"Oh, I'm so sorry to have misled you," Emile says, reaching over and taking Garrett's hand. "I'm so sorry, I'm really very new to this. The lovely woman I was with last night said one could fall in love with me just by looking."

"No, wait-"

"Sadly, my friend, I do not think I can commit to anything at present," Emile says sombrely, his eyes shining - either from emotion, or abject drunkenness, Garrett can't tell. "I hope you can forgive me. I'm certain it will not be hard for you to find another man. Do not waste your tears on me."

"I... won't?"

Emile nods, and gets to his feet, wavering a little as he pulls out a ten dollar bill from his back pocket and puts it on the table. "For the coffee. I should leave before I break your heart any further."

"No, it's-" he sees Fen frantically shaking his head from behind the bar, and amends to say, "Thank you."

Emile nods again, and turns to the rest of the café. "Do not be afraid to _live,_  friends! The future is today!"

With that, he strides out of the café and into the rain, spreading his arms wide as if receiving mana from heaven, rather than raindrops filled with pollution blown in from the Pacific. 

Everyone in the coffee shop is either staring out the windows, at Emile, or directly at Garrett, who wants to die. Again. 

"There is no God," he says, a little weakly. 

"I beg to differ," a low voice says at his side.

Garrett looks up to see Fen slipping the ten dollar bill into his apron pocket with a satisfied smirk. "Entertaining, and profitable. I'd say that worked out well."

"Good Lord, you and Isabela would get along _way_  too well," Garrett groans, putting his head in his hands. "The coffee is amazing, by the way. It's been the highlight of today."

"Having multiple people ask after your sexual history _wasn't_  the highlight of your day?" Fen asks delicately.

"Well, I didn't mind when _you_  did it," Garrett says, and immediately winces. "I mean just- you weren't an asshole. And I guess that kid wasn't an asshole, just, um-"

"Enthusiastic?"

"Something like that."

Fen chuckles, and despite the awkwardness of the past quarter-hour, and the embarrassment of knowing that the furtive whispers echoing around the café are most definitely about him, Garrett feels a little better. A little warmer.

"So, are any other rendezvous set up for you that I should know about? I feel the need to prepare in advance."

Garrett groans. "Knowing Isabela, she probably has me booked for the next month."

Fen raises an eyebrow. "The two of you must be close, if she's become your _very_ personal secretary."

"She's my sister's girlfriend, and she's terrible, and I love her," Garrett says. At Fen's further arching of his eyebrow, he adds quickly, "Not like that. I mean, she's gorgeous, but anyone my sister's attracted to automatically becomes unattractive to me. Less weird incesty love triangles that way."

"Certainly sounds useful," Fen says.

"Yeah."

Garrett looks at Fen, really _looks_ , at the deep shadows under his eyes, his snowy hair, his gentle amusement at Garrett's expense, and decides _, fuck it._  If he doesn't at least try to make a move, he's going to be kicking himself all throughout the next hundred horrible Tinder dates. 

"So, do you do this kind of thing?" Garrett says casually, leaning back in his chair. "Not, you know, getting set up by friends who don't know what _boundaries_  are for dates with people from the weird side of Tinder. But like. Dating."

Fen's lips part, like he's surprised by the question, and there's a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth as his cheeks flush. For a wonderful, heart-stopping moment, Garrett thinks he's nailed it. He's already planning their first date, their first getaway up to Whistler, potentially their wedding-

Then Fen bites his lip, an odd shadow of an expression crossing his face, and he looks away. 

"No, I- I don't really-" Fen clears his throat, and frowns. "It's... not something I do."

Garrett's vision of a small gathering of close friends and family on the grassy knoll in Granville Island overlooking the docks as Varric officiates his marriage to this beautiful man shatters. It's sad, but he's more sad that Fen looks sad. _Does wrapping someone in a Snuggie count as dating? I should ask Bethany._

"Well, you'll probably get to live vicariously through me, at least for the next while," Garrett says brightly. "If today is any indication, at the very _least_  I'm sure it will be entertaining for you."

Fen still looks a little regretful, but some of that smile comes back, and even if it's still pouring rain outside it feels like the sun has come out in Garrett's own private world, at least. "As long as your dates continue to leave large tips behind, I look forward to it."

A customer enters just then, and with a grimace Fen gives Garrett an apologetic shrug and retreats back behind the counter. Garrett watches him go, biting his lip, and trying not to sigh like a lovesick puppy. 

_Don't do this, Garrett_ , he scolds himself, staring down at his coffee. _Don't be that asshole who keeps pining after someone who's not interested. Or, you know, at the very least clearly emotionally unavailable. Move on._

He tries. He really does. He just seems to be exceptionally bad at it, is all.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> MORE RANDOM VANCOUVER NOTES!! FUN FOR THE WHOLE FAMILY!!
> 
> \- the performance art thing? is real. it's a real fuckin vancouver thing. everyone in vancouver is kind of wrapped up in the postmodern/postpostmodern art movement to a freakish extent. I was once in granville island and looked up to see a group of adult improv actors pretending to be a train. was there an audience? nope. it's just a thing people do.   
> \- this applies to art installations too. literally everything could be a potential art piece. I worked on a set where we had a massive pile of rubble and people walking past just thought it was an art installation and asked me who the artist was  
> \- GRANVILLE ISLAND IS BEAUTIFUL. if you've never been to vancouver, there's an island in false creek (the inlet that splits the city in half) under a bridge that has a massive food and arts market, a bunch of theatres, an enormous amount of boutique and private stores, like... it's gorgeous, and there are pigeons, and that grassy knoll garrett daydreams about is a real place where weddings happen (I know, because I was a pianist at a wedding that took place there. it was awesome.)
> 
> As always, I live for comments and kudos, and given the amount of dumb song references in this thing I may or may not eventually make a Heart Says Go music playlist. You can find me on the tumblrs at foxnonny.wait I did this already never mind. I love you all, and I hope to get the next chapter out soon!


	7. Eighties Dating Montage

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *wheezes* THIS IS THE FIRST OF A TWO PART CHAPTER AGAIN BECAUSE I WANTED TO POST SOMETHING AND IT WAS GETTING LONG AND THERE WAS A NATURAL BREAK. So if you don't see your suggested date in this chapter, they're probably in the next one. Still, I am posting credits now, and if I miss anyone please let me know because I want to make sure everyone is properly credited for validating my stories and my existence in general.
> 
> FROM TUMBLR, I THANK:  
> \- mutsukey  
> \- minwrathous  
> \- littleoracle  
> \- therealmnemo  
> \- theramblinggirl  
> \- fairylaced  
> \- rannadylin
> 
> FROM AO3, I THANK:  
> \- RAlouette  
> \- and viewers like you!

Over the space of the next two weeks, Isabela sets up no less than seven Tinder dates for Garrett. He finds this out on Sunday night, and reacts accordingly.

" _I'm a TA!_ " he says (shouts), as Isabela sips a large glass of cheap merlot (courtesy of Beth) and cards her fingers through Marian's hair (dead asleep, her head in Isabela's lap, drooling slightly). "And this is exam season- I have to, you know, _grade stuff,_  and provide help, and- and be a role model-"

"I matched it all to your schedule," Isabela says unrepentantly, a little grin on her lips. "And keep it down, will you? You'll wake the only person actually making any money in this house."

" _Nothing_  wakes Marian when she's really conked out," Beth says from across the room, a little distractedly, her eyes fixed on the TV screen as she and Andy battle for dominance in Smash Bros. Bethany plays as Lucina, Anders Rosalina. They all have their staples in the house - Isabela, of course, leapt on Bayonetta as soon as she became available. Marian _always_ picks Bowser, Carver Donkey Kong, and Varric has never once deviated from his deep love for Zero Suit Samus.

Garrett? He's a Kirby man through and through. His siblings complain that "floating around and setting everything on fire then dropping on people's heads when they're distracted doesn't count as technique, Garrett," but he's won once or twice by simply being lucky enough not to fall off the platform or get caught up in anyone else's battles and that suits him just fine.

"It's about the principle of the thing," Isabela says, and returns her attention to Garrett. "Garrett, darling, you are the only man I know who's struck out on not one, but _two_  hook-ups. Literally all that last man wanted was sex."

"He wanted me to take his dude virginity," Garrett says sourly, folding his arms. "It was weird. Besides, maybe I want more than just casual sex."

"That's gay," mutters Marian softly, her eyes shut. It's very likely that she's still asleep.

"Aw," says Isabela fondly. To Garrett, she says, "I'll admit, that was weird. Well, who knows? You might find your soulmate amongst this rogue's gallery of manflesh I've chosen for you, _out of the goodness of my heart,_  I might add."

"And boredom," Andy throws in from across the room. " _Goddammit!_ "

"Fell off the edge again?" Garrett asks sympathetically.

"Yeah."

"Why do all of you suck at this game?" Beth mutters, shaking her head. 

Garrett looks at Isabela, who gazes up at him over her merlot with a little smirk, and throws his hands in the air, defeated. " _Fine._  I'm not a complete dick, so I won't flake out on these poor bastards. But _no more_ , alright?"

Isabela pouts, but Garrett holds firm. She sighs. "Well, at the very least after date number seven you'll have been properly bedded, and I can hold my oath to Varric fulfilled."

Garrett frowns. "You seem confident."

"Lucky Gentlemen Numero Sept is a dear friend of mine," Isabela says with a wink. "Believe me, he's _very_  excited to meet you. Call it a gift."

Garrett isn't sure he likes the sound of that, and lets his face fall into his hands with a low groan.

-

"...and anyway, when I got back from Thailand it was just a _revelation,_  you know? Like I could be anyone I wanted to be..."

Garrett is trying to listen. He is. He's sipping his coffee made by Flissa (not Fen, sadly, he's not here today) and he's nodding and adding the occasional "mhm" and "me too!" and "no fucking way," wherever vaguely appropriate, but he's distracted.

He's distracted because this guy - Keran, a bit younger than himself and some kind of cross between your average Vancouver yogi and your average Vancouver ski bum - looks familiar as _fuck._  He's nice, and all, but Garrett definitely knows him from somewhere and whatever the context is it casts a bizarre vibe on the whole situation that Garrett can't quite shake.

"...so I decided to go back to uni, but man, the switch was _bizarre_. I was kind of a mess last fall, probably gave my profs hell-"

"Introduction to Theme Analysis!" Garrett says suddenly, smacking the table in triumph. "You sat in the back row- you were Stoner Kid!"

Keran stares at him, wide-eyed.

"Holy shit," he says. "You were the asshole who graded my term paper."

"Yeah! Wait," Garrett says, his face falling. "Asshole?"

Keran rubs the back of his neck and winces. "Well, yeah, man. I really needed that grade."

Garrett bites his lip, thinking back, trying to remember- _ah._  

"I think I e-mailed you about it," Garrett says. "Tried to offer some advice."

Keran frowns. "I don't remember..."

"You told me to use it as a dildo."

Keran blinks, and puts his face in his hands.

"I was living with some really toxic people back then, and- I did some stupid shit," Keran says, peeking up over his fingers. "Actually, they used to borrow my laptop all the time for whatever, so one of them might of sent it, or- no, it was probably me. Shit."

"Honestly, I laughed," Garrett says. "But things are better for you now?"

Keran puts his hands down, and nods. 

"Yeah, I... I guess a lot of it had to do with coming out? I'm a little more relaxed now. I moved out of that shitty place and like... I don't know, it was a good way to gauge who was an asshole in my life, and who wasn't." Keran smiles, a little sheepish. "Sorry for telling you to shove my essay up your ass."

"I think my sister said she wanted that e-mail framed," Garrett grins.

Keran laughs, and takes a sip of coffee. Then, a little shyly, he says, "So, um... did I complete blow it, or-?"

"Well, honestly, your writing was pretty decent," Garrett says. "The problem was that your thesis was completely off-topic, and if I remember correctly you had some _major_  issues citing sources, and... you weren't talking about your paper, were you?"

Keran's a little red now, and says, "Nope."

"Keran, I would never not date a guy because he told a TA to shove it, even if that TA was me. That would essentially rule out most people who've gone to university. But you were my student, and it kind of makes it... weird."

Keran's face looks a little like he was kicked in the shins, and Garrett feels like a monumental jackass. 

"How is it weird?" Keran asks. "We're practically the same age."

"No, I know, it's just-" Garrett leans forward with a sigh, clasping his hands together. "I kind of see you all as my children."

Keran suddenly looks a lot less like he's been kicked in the shins.

Unfortunately, he also looks a lot more like Garrett's admitted a deep and undying love for Nickelback. 

-

"So, Bran?"

Fen isn't here today, again, and it makes Garrett want to cry a little even if he's positively completely over the idea of their Granville Island wedding (in September, when the leaves are just starting to turn and the light off the water will be that perfect shade of gold. Marian and Bethany will have to fight to the death to be his maid of honour. He can't wait.)

But this guy is... a redhead, a similar shade of red to Sebastian's actually, and the thought makes Garrett a little twitchy. Warm brown eyes instead of pretty blues, though. He's a little older, and he's got the look of someone who has his shit together and has very little time to spare. So far, Garrett's on board, as long as this guy is the kind of Type A personality who doesn't mind having a Type B around to lighten the mood. 

"You look familiar," Bran says, narrowing his eyes. "Have we met?"

"Please tell me you're not taking World Lit classes at SFU," Garrett says, his heart sinking.

Bran raises an eyebrow. "Not within the last ten years, no. Have I worked with you before? The industry is pretty small in this town."

"The industry-?" It clicks. "You work in film!"

If anything, Bran's eyebrow inches a little higher on his face. "Yes, I believe I mentioned that on my bio."

_Fucking hell, Bela._

"Right," Garrett says, nodding. "My bad. I'm not a film guy myself - I mean, I like watching them, but that's about it. I did a few days to help pay bills a year or two back. Maybe you know my sister? Marian Hawke?"

Bran's eyebrows snap together, and while Garrett is certainly discouraged by this change in expression, all he can think is that Bran has _really flexible eyebrow muscles._

"I- dear God, you're  _her_  brother?" Bran says, scowling. "I'm sorry, but- your sister is _utterly_  incompetent. And rude."

It's Garrett's turn for eyebrow gymnastics, now. Blinking, he says, "I think you're thinking of someone else."

"No, it explains why you look familiar," Bran says, folding his arms. "I had the _honour_ of working with her a year or two back on an MOW. She was my TAD. Couldn't get her to fall in line, and couldn't get her to stop ogling one of the actresses. Completely unprofessional."

Garrett blinks again, and it hits him. He didn't recognize the name because Marian only ever referred to him as "that douchebag," but-

" _You're_  the guy who never picked up his walkie!" Garrett says, leaning forward. "Yeah, Ri told me about you. Apparently _you_ bullied a PA to tears."

"He set a tent on fire!"

" _After_  you bullied him. It was _revenge_ , Bran. And apparently you almost punched the DOP in the face-" Garrett thinks for a moment. "Well, actually, Marian kind of liked you for that because he was also a dick. But you were a total douche about the walkies. And you were a douche to my sister. And you just shit-talked my sister _to me,_ her brother, what's wrong with you?"

Bran is definitely pissed now, his lips a fine line. "I think I'll finish this coffee alone, thank you."

"Yeah, fucking enjoy it," Garrett says, gathering up his coat and downing the rest of his cinnamon latte in one go (which he's going to regret in approximately two minutes when the caffeine hits his system like a fucking bullet train) (also, it isn't as good as Fen's). 

He takes a step, then turns back and says, "And by the way, that actress my sister was "ogling?" They're together now. That's right. My sister scored the _hottest damn woman_  in the Lower Mainland. They have a _lot_  of sex and while it's horrible that I know that because she's my sister, I'm telling you so you can _feel the burn._ "

With that, he tosses his jacket over his shoulder and stalks out.

Later when he recounts the story to Marian, she laughs so hard she cries, hugs him, and insists on paying for his next few rounds at the Hanged Man.

"Didn't you work on the same show as that guy?" Garrett asks Isabela later, as they all sit around their regular table and work through their third pitcher of the night.

"Maybe," Isabela says, yawning lazily. "Most of the people I meet on set who don't have the word "executive" in front of their title fall beneath my notice."

" _Chug! Chug! Chug!_ "

Isabela and Garrett look over to see Marian clasping the pitcher with both hands, gulping down the last half of it with frightening speed as Varric and Bethany cheer her on, and Anders tries to wrestle it away from her with a look of growing panic, shouting something about stomach pumps. 

"With one notable exception," Garrett says, and Isabela's expression softens to something... fond. Far, far more than fond. 

"It was a worthy exception," Isabela says, over Andy's muffled screeching - Marian has switched to a one-handed grip on the pitcher to shove his face away, and one of her fingers is now shoved distressingly far up his nose.

Garrett takes a picture.  

-

When Garrett sees a familiar shock of white hair behind the espresso machine as he enters Hightown a few days later, he tries very hard not to go bounding up to the counter like an overexcited golden retriever. He keeps his pace calm, sedate, casual. He plays it very cool.

"You're back!" he exclaims once he's at the register, sounding like a six-year old trapped in a twenty-seven year old man's body (which, come to think of it, is a downright horrifying thought).

Fen looks over and smiles - a genuine, shy little smile, and Garrett's heart skips a beat. Actually skips a beat. Then proceeds to beat very fast as Fen follows this with a slight lift of his eyebrows at Garrett's enthusiasm. "I wasn't exactly gone."

"I know, I just- the last two times I've been here, you weren't here, and I missed-" Garrett pauses, realizing as he speaks how dumb and desperate he sounds. He clears his throat and finishes, "-your coffee."

Fen smirks, joining Garrett at the counter. "Was the coffee provided in my absence unsatisfactory, in some way?"

"Yes," Garrett says. "It was lacking your magic touch."

Fen laughs - no, not laughs, _giggles,_  Garrett might cry from how sweet that is - and ducks his head. "Most of the process is heavily automated, you know."

"Clearly you speak to those machines in a language no others can comprehend."

Fen is starting to look a little pink again, and it's very hard not to lean over and kiss his face. 

"Well, I'm glad you enjoy my... coffee," Fen says, and the pause there is something Garrett is no doubt going to savour and obsess over later as he replays this conversation in his head, looking for some hidden meaning in Fen's words. "How have your, ah, conquests been progressing?"

Garrett groans. "Not mine, Isabela's. I want to be fully separated from the decision-making that went into this whole mess."

"Well, that answers my question, I suppose."

Garrett sighs, and waves his hands in a vaguely helpless gesture. "One turned out to be a student who once told me to use his essay for creative and unlikely purposes involving certain parts of my anatomy, after which I told him nothing could happen between us because he was my pseudo-child, and the other was an asshole who hates my sister and my parting words to him were "feel the burn.""

Fen blinks. "You were right. Clearly I have been gone for an unforgivable amount of time, to have missed so much." Then, quietly and a little incredulously, he adds, ""Feel the burn?""

"I am an exceptional smack-talker under pressure," Garrett says.

"No doubt." Fen rings up a cinnamon latte without Garrett having to ask, but at a significantly lower price than what Garrett's grown accustomed to here. At Garrett's questioning look, Fen says, "I rang it up as child-sized. But wouldn't you know it, we appear to have run out of child-sized cups, and I will _unfortunately_  be forced to give you a large instead. I hope that's alright."

"Marry me," Garrett breathes.

Fen glances up, startled, and Garrett adds quickly, "I meant the coffee."

_Shit._

"I..." Fen's face does several things at once, and eventually he says, "As progressive as this country is, I don't think they've made that sort of thing legal yet."

"Give it time," Garrett says, digging a five-dollar bill out of his pocket. "And- thank you. You're awesome. Like, just extremely amazing."

Fen can't seem to look him in the eye, but his mouth is twitching like he's trying very hard not to grin, or laugh, and Garrett takes it as a good sign. 

He takes his change and saunters off to his table, hands in his pockets, and very glad he chose to wear the jeans that, to hear Isabela describe them, "If you ever needed bus change while wearing those, just bend over in a public space and in seconds people will be bouncing toonies off that ass." A bit bizarre to hear from his sister's girlfriend, but he trusts Isabela's judgement in terms of ass quality. He makes a slight show of arranging his bag, bending a little more than necessary, and while no change comes flying his way he glances over his shoulder in time to see Fen very quickly looking away, his cheeks far more red than they were when Garrett was complimenting him. _And the Hawke booty snares yet another victim._

"Mm- _hmm,_  now _that_  is a fine sight to see."

Garrett jerks up to see a lean man in _extraordinarily_  tight clothing, very openly ogling as he looks Garrett over. 

"Oh honey, please, don't straighten up on my account," the man practically purrs, and grins. "In _every_  sense of the words. I'm Jeth."

_Jeth? Not Jeff,_ Jeth? _Fucking Vancouver._

"G-Garrett," Garrett responds, very quickly sitting. There's something in the way Jeth is checking him out that makes him feel less like a strong, confident guy in his prime, and a little more like a lobster in a tank at a grocery store, being sized up by someone with an intense craving for shellfish. 

"A little shy in person, then?" Jeth says, taking a seat and looking at Garrett with a serious case of bedroom eyes, and sweet fuck. He's a little worried Jeth's going to burst into flames in front of him. Fabulous, _fabulous_  flames. "That's not the impression I got from your very... _descriptive_  messages, but I like it. You know what they say - kitten in the streets, _tiger_  in the sheets, you know what I mean?"

Garrett has never in his life been compared to either a kitten or a tiger, so he's not entirely sure what Jeth means, but he's very, _very_  worried that he's going to find out.

(He is certain of one thing, though: he is absolutely going to murder Isabela.)

"Is there anything I can get you?"

It's Fen, of course. Poor, poor Fen, doing his job, bringing Garrett his coffee, coming to take Jeth's order. Garrett sees it coming like an oncoming train and has to physically grip the table to keep from leaping between Fen and Jeth to take the hit.

But he doesn't, and he can only watch helplessly as Jeth gives Fen that same hungry look and says, "Only if _you're_  on the menu, sweetheart." 

(It doesn't matter that Garrett thought that exact same thing, nearly word-perfect, when he first met Fen. He never said it out loud, and that gives him just enough of an edge to want to throttle Jeth for... harassment, or something. Not just because he's hitting on the guy Garrett's trying very hard not to be in love with.) 

"I should come here more often - didn't know they were hiring models these days." Jeth bites his lip with a grin, and sure he can pull it off, but _Jesus fucking Christ._

Fen looks a little like he's been hit over the heat with a very large, very heavy object. Garrett can empathize.

"We have coffee," Fen says a moment later, his voice flat, and Garrett can't _quite_  help but notice that Jeth's flirting does not elicit a smile, a blush, or a giggle out of Fen. _Ten points to Gryffindor._

"An espresso will be fine, darling," Jeth says, throwing in a wink. 

Fen glances at Garrett. Garrett looks back at him and hopes that Fen sees both " _I'm so fucking sorry_ " and " _Please for the love of God save me_ " in his eyes.

Fen's brows lift very slightly, the message clear: " _Good fucking luck, buddy._ "

He turns and walks away, leaving Garrett to his fate. 

"Ooh, I could do _very_  naughty things to that boy," Jeth says, licking his lips. For a horrible moment, Garrett almost prays that Jeth will just give up on him entirely and follow Fen back to the counter. It would be heartbreaking to see Fen go down like that, but in every war there are casualties, and all.

Sadly for Garrett and likely to the great relief and amusement of Fen, Jeth turns his attention back on his current company.

"Don't worry, sugar, I know who I'm here for," Jeth says, reaching across the table and sliding his hand up Garrett's wrist. "Did I mention I'm a yoga instructor?"

Which explains the overabundance of Lululemon currently clinging to every angle of Jeth's slim shape. Garrett is about to attempt a response - something along the lines of "You don't say?" - and chokes off on a very unmanly squeak as Jeth's foot finds his inner thigh under the table.

Jeth smiles at him, and says, "Did I mention I teach _hot_  yoga?"

Jeth is in the midst of describing his ability to fit both legs over his head while his foot makes sweet, passionate love to Hawke's thigh, when Fen returns with coffee and a glass of ice water in hand. Jeth winks at Fen again and goes into a little more detail, a little louder, and Fen's face is just a little _too_  blank to be believed as he turns to Garrett.

Garrett is just wondering what the water is for when Fen trips.

He doesn't have much time to wonder what exactly Fen tripped _on_  before he's doused in extremely cold water, all down his front and into his lap.

He wishes his shout of surprise were a little more macho, and a little less reminiscent of a toddler being hit with a water balloon.

"I _really_  hope that's not what you sound like when you're in the bedroom, honey," Jeth says, and adds to Fen, "I wasn't aware this was a wet t-shirt contest. Make no mistake, I'm happy to see the show."

"My apologies," says Fen to Garrett, but in a customer service voice, not the softer, more genuine tone Garrett's become accustomed to. He's impressed that he's making this observation even while certain sensitive parts of his body are freezing off. "There's a washroom at the back, for you to dry off. Let me know if there is anything I can do."

Garrett suddenly realizes what this is. _An escape._

_Dear God, I have never in my life been more grateful to have ice water dumped on me. Bless this man._  

"No worries," Garrett says, straightening quickly and nearly getting taken down by the chair tangled up in his legs. "Um, thanks."

He doesn't sprint away, exactly, but he does speedwalk. He speedwalks very, very quickly.

It isn't even a matter of procrastination that keeps Garrett in the washroom for well over ten minutes - Fen got him good _,_  and he refuses to walk back out there looking like he pissed himself. He positions himself awkwardly under the hand dryer and leans back a little, like he's trying to fuck the air current.

Like he's getting a blowjob.

_Heh._

At any rate, he knows he has to face the music eventually, though he does quickly check the air vent on the off-chance he might fit through it if he were to get the grating off (he can't, and he can't). With a deep sense of trepidation and boxers that are still unpleasantly damp, he gives his hands one last wash to burn a few extra seconds, dries them, and opens the door.

His jaw physically drops. 

There stands Fen by his table with a mop, a (stupidly attractive) satisfied, smug smirk on his face. It's a look reminiscent of Anders' nightmare cat Haunt's little grins whenever he manages to destroy one of Kitty's dog toys. Jeth is nowhere to be seen.

Garrett approaches cautiously as Fen continues to mop up. Fen glances up, and his smirk widens at the look on Garrett's face.

"You didn't kill him, did you?" Garrett asks, and honestly, no matter what the answer is he still wants to sweep Fen up into his arms like a Disney prince and whisk him somewhere far, far away from here. 

"Didn't need to," Fen says with a shrug. "I simply explained to him that you would be an incredibly disappointing lover."

Of all the sentences in all the languages in all the countries in all the world, that is the last one Garrett expects to hear rolling smoothly off Fen's tongue. 

It takes a few seconds of questioning reality before he manages a strangled, "Pardon?"

"He seemed like a size queen, so I told him you had a very, _very_  small package," Fen says, smiling up at Garrett as if he isn't casually crushing Garrett's hopes and dreams (also - _size queen._ Again, not something Garrett would have ever expected Fen to say, or know, or- what the fuck). "When that didn't work and I got a two-minute long lecture about body-shaming, which raised my esteem of the man ever so slightly, I told him that you cry afterwards."

"After... sex...?"

"Mhm. You cry about how the recent _Hobbit_  movie trilogy was massively inferior to the original _Lord of the Rings_  films. I told him unless he was prepared to wear a Legolas wig and memorize a little Elvish, he best run while he can." Fen places the mop back in the bucket and looks at Garrett, who is now relying on the table under his hands to support his weight as he stares at the man who has utterly captivated his heart and who is also very clearly either Lucifer incarnate or- sweet fuck, no, he's probably just Satan. "I hope that was alright."

There are a million things Garrett wants to say to this. He wants to defend his _perfectly adequately-sized_  junk, for one thing. For another, he wants to know if by telling Jeth all this, Fen had implied that he'd slept with Garrett. 

He wants to know if that's a thing Fen thinks about.

He also wants to confirm that yes, while he will happily and gladly watch any and all Peter Jackson iterations of Middle-Earth, he acknowledges that the _Hobbit_  movies were definitely not as good as _The Lord of the Rings_  and he did once cry about it but not after sex, it was after quite an awful lot of peach schnapps - at any rate, he doesn't say any of this.

What he says is, "So... is Fen short for something?"

Fen tilts his head, and after a moment, answers, "Fenris."

_Fenris._  It's gorgeous. He's gorgeous. He's gorgeous and evil and standing like this Garrett can tell Fenris would fit just perfectly under his chin if he hugged him and it's all very incredibly unfair.

Garrett steps forward, about to say something like "That's a nice name" and hopefully not following it up with "do you think you'd fancy Hawke as a surname" when four things happen.

The first, is that his foot hits that freshly mopped floor and skates off faster than a Sedin twin at a Stanley Cup playoff, causing him to go down like a fucking fresh-chopped evergreen covered in plaid (Isabela didn't manage to catch him for a wardrobe change before he left this morning).

The second, is that Fenris tosses the mop aside to try to catch all six feet of falling Hawke, causing the bucket to tip over and spill more water onto the floor.

The third, is that as Fenris's back foot hits the water and skids, Garrett realizes there's a very real danger that he's about to crush a very small, very hot barista under him, and that absolutely _cannot happen._  In a heroic move, he twists them both around before they hit the ground so Fenris lands on him, rather than the other way around.

They lie there, tangled-up, more than a little shell-shocked, and both covered in mop water, trying to piece together what exactly just happened.

"Nice save," Fenris says after a moment, lifting his face from Garrett's shoulder.

Garrett swallows, because- well _shit,_  he's absolutely had fantasies along these lines and although the mop water and the burgeoning knot on the back of his head were not part of them this is still Fenris, _on him,_  and even jumbled together like this with Fenris's killer-sharp elbow digging into Garrett's solar plexus and Garrett's hand lodged somewhere in Fenris's armpit it's still clear how well they fit together.

Or at least, it's clear to Garrett.

"That was revenge for the ice water," he says, struggling to breathe for more than a few reasons.

Fenris lifts an eyebrow, and grins, and pressed up like this Garrett is pretty fucking sure Fenris can _feel_  his heart racing-

"Oh, Garrett, I'm so proud of you! Good boy! Who's this, then?"

Ah yes.

The fourth thing, is that Isabela entered the café some time during the Great Fall of Garrett, and is now standing over them with a look of utter, devious glee lighting up her face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You know what time it is, kids... it's CANADIANA TIME!!
> 
> \- I'm 90% sure everyone in the world knows this but in case you don't, a loonie is a one dollar coin and a toonie is a two dollar coin and our money is multicoloured, beautiful, and we don't have pennies anymore because they're essentially useless
> 
> \- I think I've mentioned the Lower Mainland before in terms of terminology but in case I haven't, the Lower Mainland is everything west of the interior and encompasses a lot of the cities grouped around here like Abbotsford, Langley, Delta, Surrey, Burnaby, Richmond, Coquitlam, and of course, Vancouver. North of us is the Sunshine Coast named for the purposes of irony alone istg.
> 
> \- This is probably not just a Vancouver thing. I refuse to believe it's just a Vancouver thing. But a good portion of the city is fuckin' OBSESSED WITH YOGA. Seriously Lululemon almost funded an event on one of the city bridges on Father's Day last year for a public?? yoga gathering I don't know, it got shut down because people kind of need bridges to get in and out of the city and that's hard to do when the bridge is covered in yogis. Because of this Lululemon is an intensely popular store that does very well here and up in Whistler, and... I don't know, you just see someone walking down the street all decked out in Lululemon stuff head to toe and you just kind of know a good portion of who they are as a person from that alone (and I say this with love, because believe me half my friends are hippies and the rich ones are the Lululemon fanatics). You'll know them by their coconut water and their Facebook profile pictures of them doing yoga stands on the beach in front of a sunset.
> 
> \- I'm going to be starting a thing on my Tumblr where I give people a photo tour of the places and things mentioned in each chapter, which hopefully I'll be able to do soon. I'm wrapped up in a composing gig right now that's kind of eating my life because I have zero time management skills. But if you're interested in that, or just want to hang out, my Tumblr is foxnonny.tumblr.com and all the links and tags for my fics are there.
> 
> I love you all, thank you to everyone who's been following this fic so far!


	8. Eighties Dating Montage 2: Nuts n' Bolts

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tags on this chapter for a little bit of Guys Being Douches(TM) and some brief violence (nothing super gritty I swear!)
> 
> Guys, lemme tell you about my life right now.
> 
> Tomorrow I'm going to be leaving my Lower Mainland mountain home to go live for three months in the Kootenays (big-ass mountains in Eastern BC - commonly referred to by us city folk as "the boonies" or "buttfuck nowhere") for my composition/music director/acting job. I have a shrine to the concept of Executive Dysfunction to dismantle (my room), a life to pack, and a motherfucking barbershop quartet to compose. I gathered up a bunch of trash bags last night, made coffee, and vowed to start getting shit done.
> 
> I got none of that shit done. I got this chapter done. This is my gift to you.
> 
> Please enjoy the fruits of my productive procrastination, and pray for me as you do. My immediate future is bleak and full of garbage, old dishes, and a potential caffeine overdose.
> 
> EDIT: I'M A GODDAMN DOOF WARRIOR. The idea for Zevran being a laywer came from ao3 user Gahocleric like, a million billion years ago. All credit for his backstory goes to them.

The reaction to Isabela's sudden appearance is instantaneous and disastrous.

Fenris narrowly avoids catching Garrett directly in the balls with his knee, but does not avoid smacking his head off the side of one of the tables as he scrambles to his feet. Garrett sits up after having his life flash before his eyes due to the near knee-to-the-groin incident and untangles his legs from Fenris's, trying very hard not to trip him up again as he reaches up to touch Fenris's head where he hit the table. "Shit, you okay?"

"Wonderful," Fenris says with a grimace, straightening up and offering Garrett a hand. To Garrett's shock, he's able to pull him to his feet with what feels like very little effort. _How ripped are you, exactly?_

"I didn't mean to interrupt," Isabela says, leaning back against the wall and crossing her arms over her chest, just under her bosom. Garrett can't help but notice the way Fenris's eyes flick down to the generous cleavage Isabela is currently being charitable enough to share with the world, and though a small spike of jealousy works its way up Garrett's spine, he truthfully can't blame the poor guy. He's only human. "If you wanted to get back to it, by all means, I love a good show."

"Fen, Isabela," Garrett says with a sigh, very aware that he has probably gone at least fifteen shades of red by now, and knowing that Isabela's predatory grin can't mean anything good for him. "Isabela, Fen."

"That explains quite a lot, actually," Fenris says, rubbing his head a little gingerly. 

Isabela tilts her head. "Fen. I thought Garrett's boytoy of today was supposed to be a very flexible yoga instructor with a filthy mind named Jeth."

"Bela, he looked like he was going to eat me."

"I hope so, he promised as much in his messages."

"You-" Garrett scrubbed a hand over his face. "Have you been... _sexting_ , on my behalf, too?"

"I thought I should give things a little nudge," Isabela shrugs. "It only got that steamy with Jeth, I promise. You should read the messages sometime, Gare-Bear. It's earned a permanent spot in my own personal spank bank."

Fenris glances as Garrett, eyebrow raised. "She's your sister's girlfriend?"

"Yes, and we're all very happy for them both," Garrett says. "Bela, I love you, but _please_  do not have phone sex with people pretending to be me. I didn't realize that was a parameter I had to set on all this, but there you have it. Hell, Fen had to tell the guy I cry about Lord of the Rings after sex to get him to leave."

Isabela looks at Fenris, her voice very convincingly genuine when she says, "Wow, he told you about that?"

" _I do not cry about Lord of the Rings after sex!_ "

Both Fenris and Isabela snort, and Garrett starts to get a sinking feeling that them meeting is going to go exactly how he figured it would. _Guess what, Ri? Looks like we Hawke losers have a goddamn type._

"Well, no loss if this is the consolation prize," Isabela says, looking Fenris over. " _Very_  nice. Ooh, and he's got such big, pretty eyes. You like pretty eyes, don't you?"

If Garrett was red before, he's pretty fucking sure his face is about to burst into flames from how hard he's blushing. Fenris doesn't seem to be faring any better, looking a little startled by Isabela's words as his dark skin deepens into a gentle flush.

_It's fucking adorable, how easily he blushes when he's being complimented._

Still, it's Garrett's self-appointed duty to defend all innocent victims from his friends and family.

"I-" Garrett clears his throat, and says, "There was- a mopping mishap, that's all."

Isabela pouts. "Now, don't be like that, Garrett. You know you can trust me not to tell anyone how you and the hot barista were making sweet, passionate-"

"Can I get you anything?" Fenris says, his voice tight. 

"Nah, if you're done with our friendly neighbourhood lumberjack here, I'm dragging him off to a family dinner. We're all gathering at the Hanged Man in Kirkwall." Isabela grins. "You should join us some time. The booze is exceptionally awful and even more exceptionally cheap, and there's karaoke on Tuesdays."

"Bela-" Garrett starts, as Fenris says, "Maybe I will."

Garrett nearly snaps his neck whipping around to look at Fenris, feeling himself beaming before he can get a fucking hold of himself. " _Really?_ "

Fenris shrugs with a soft smile. "According to a friend of mine, I... don't get out enough. I like cheap booze. I could be convinced."

"Garrett, I demand you text this man. You do have his number, do you not?"

_Holy shit. Isabela is an evil, evil genius_. 

"Um, if you're comfy with it," Garrett says, pulling out his phone.

For a moment, Fenris does _not_ seem comfy with it, a brief frown passing over his face, lips thin. Then he closes his eyes, and his features relax a little when he opens them again, offering Garrett another small smile. "Of course, Hawke."

They exchange numbers, both of them still unpleasantly damp in places from their adventure on the floor (and Garrett can still feel it, a little, all of Fenris's weight and warmth resting on him like he was always meant to be there, and it's very distracting). Then Isabela has her arm looped in Garrett's, tossing Fenris a small wink, and is dragging him out the door.

"See you later?" Garrett says over his shoulder. Fenris nods and waves a little, watching him leave.

"Alright, new plan," Isabela murmurs, dragging Garrett down the street to the nearby parkade (and how she knew his car was there, Garrett does not want to know. Isabela usually transits or taxis to where she wants to go). "Garrett, you must bed that boy. My _God_ , how long have you been keeping this from me? I'm hurt, darling, I really am."

"It's not like that," Garrett says, narrowly avoiding tripping over a busker's open guitar case. "Look, I... he's been there since day one, and I kind of already tried asking him out."

"And?"

"He said no."

Isabela cuts Garrett an extremely dubious expression, and says, "Really. What did he say _exactly?_  For that matter, what did _you_  say?" 

"I... asked if he was into dating, and he said no."

"Dating in _general?_ "

"Yeah."

"Oh my God, Garrett, you're killing me."

"Look," Garrett says, pulling open the door to the parkade elevator for both of them. "He... I don't know. It seems like he's dealing with some shit. I don't want to press, especially if he's not interested. I made a move, it didn't work, ball's in his court now and it doesn't seem like it's going anywhere."

"But you like him."

Garrett thinks briefly of his Granville Island wedding fantasy again, and says, "A little, yeah."

They step into the elevator, Isabela's face just a little _too_  innocent for Garrett's liking, her eyes narrowed in thought. 

"Well, there's only one thing to do then," Isabela says, and Garrett feels a little relief course through him.

"You're going to stop setting me up with random Tinder dates?"

"What? Oh darling, no." Isabela shakes her head. "No, you're going on those dates. I made a promise, after all. I swore to get you laid."

"But-"

"Look, he's not into you? Well, that's his loss. Doesn't mean you have to suffer."

"Bela, going on those dates _is_  suffering."

"Only because you were hung up on the barista! But since you've talked it out and decided there's no hope for either of you, you're free to pursue others, correct?" Isabela smiles at him. "So, pursue. To the best of your abilities. I'm certain this... "Fen" will be more than happy to help."

Garrett blinks, and frowns. "I'm missing something here."

"It's for the best, really," Isabela says, patting Garrett's cheek. "Trust me."

Garrett doesn't. He really, really doesn't. 

-

"It's just so good to finally meet you!"

Garrett smiles over his cinnamon latte, his heart softening despite himself. "You too."

Today's date is a little younger, maybe around twenty-two, twenty-three. He is very cute though, and very sweet - hell, he showed up earlier than Garrett, and was very enthusiastic about waving him down. Black hair, blue eyes. Big eyes. _Pretty_  eyes.

Fenris doesn't seem to like him much, however. He's been... well, brooding, actually. Occasionally peering at them both over the espresso machines when he thinks Garrett isn't looking. _Maybe he's just having a bad day._

"I really love World Lit," the boy - Seamus - says, leaning forward with a smile. "And you're a TA. What's that like?"

_He's Bethany and Carver's age. Is that too weird?_

Garrett takes in that open, honest smile, those gorgeous eyes, and decides he can live with it. 

"It's... honestly, it's a lot of reading very bad essays and trying to figure out a reasonable curve to grade them on," Garrett says, and Seamus laughs lightly. "What do you do?"

"Still in school, so I work part-time for my dad," Seamus says, wrinkling his nose a little. _Very cute._  "He owns a few properties. Sort of a family business thing, but I kind of want to go my own way, you know? I want to teach too, I think. Maybe Religious Studies, or Philosophy."

"Very nice," Garrett says, smiling. "You'll need a Masters for that, likely. If not a PhD."

"I'm more than willing to do the work," Seamus says seriously, nodding a little. "But... well, my father- he's not exactly thrilled about me being in school for the next decade. Doesn't think Religious Studies or Philosophy are worth much."

"The same can easily be said about World Lit," Garrett says, taking a sip of his coffee and adding, "Hell, I only took world lit because my friend was a TA in the program and I wanted to hang out with him. It was just a coincidence that I didn't hate it."

"Well... maybe you can teach me a thing or two?" Seamus says, lowering his head a little and looking up at Garrett through thick, black lashes. 

Hot damn.

"Maybe I could," Garrett replies, grinning. 

There's the sound of someone aggressively clearing their throat next to them both, and Garrett looks up to see Fenris standing there, looking decidedly sour. 

"Is there anything else I can get for you?" Fenris says, the words polite but each one dripping with a quiet _fuck you_. 

"I think we're okay, but thanks, Fen," Garrett says, as nicely as he can. If Fenris is having a bad day, he's not going to make it worse by being an asshole to him just because he's in a bad mood.

Fenris gives him a look that seems equal parts frustrated and remorseful, then nods and turns on his heel, stalking away. 

"I feel like I pissed him off somehow," Seamus says, biting his lip. It's very sweet, and all of a sudden Garrett wants to be the one biting Seamus's lip. Seamus isn't Fenris, but he is _very_  cute, by God. 

"I don't think so, he's a really nice guy," Garrett says quietly, wincing as Fenris slams the little swinging divider behind him as he disappears back behind the counter. "I think he's just having a rough day. It's not you."

Seamus sighs, and nods. "Thanks. Is he a friend of yours?"

_Friend, and fantasy husband because Garrett's heart is a one-track and intensely stupid train barreling towards a canyon of despair and perpetual loneliness._

"Yeah," Garrett says. Eager to change the subject, Garrett says, "So what courses are you taking now?"

"Luckily my school offers a few AP courses for Religious Studies, so I'm in a World Religion class right now," Seamus says. "It's been very interesting, but not exactly immersive, you know? Really only covers the bare bones basics. I'm taking it for the advanced credit, more than for the actual content."

"Right," Garrett says, nodding. Something about Seamus's words eat at him a little, though.

_Wait._

He blinks, then says, "AP?"

"Advanced Placement," Seamus supplies. 

"Oh, I know, I just- I thought they only, uh- I thought that was a high school thing."

Seamus's face contorts into a bit of a grimace, and all thoughts of taking Seamus to bed immediately vacate Garrett's mind, replaced instead with mute horror. 

"Did-" Garrett's voice breaks on the word, and he has to gather himself a little before saying, "I- you seem a little bright to have been held back a few years, but everyone- you know, everyone learns at a different pace-"

"It's not a big deal," Seamus says quickly, his big blue eyes imploring as he looks at Garrett. "I turn eighteen in August, it's not that weird-"

" _You're seventeen?_ "

Alright, Garrett maybe could have said that a little quieter. 

Very luckily, there's not too many people in the café right now, but the couple by the window are not hiding their stares and look ready to call the police on Garrett. Hell, _Garrett_  wants to call the police on Garrett. 

Garrett doesn't even want to look at Fenris. He doesn't think he can handle that right now.

"I'm sorry, I know you have to be eighteen to use the app, but- it's just so hard meeting gay guys, you know?" Seamus says, a little desperately. "Everyone's very "don't ask, don't tell" at school, and my dad- he means well, but he doesn't trust anyone. I think it's because he's a landlord, you know? Kirkwall's shady as fuck sometimes, and- ugh, I'm babbling. I'm sorry."

"Seamus, it's alright," Garrett says quickly, and the couple staring at him dial their judgmental stares up a few notches. "I mean, not- look, I should have asked, but-" Garrett blinks. "Wait, Kirkwall?"

"Yeah, it's where dad owns most of his property," Seamus says.

_Oh God, no._

"Your last name... doesn't happen to be Dumar, does it?"

Seamus brightens a little. "Oh, do you know my dad?"

"He's my landlord," Garrett says weakly, feeling all the blood drain from his face. "Oh God."

There's an odd choking noise, and Garrett glances over to see Fenris bent over a counter, suffering from what looks like an aggressive coughing fit.

No, not a coughing fit. The bastard is _laughing._

"Is it really a problem?" Seamus says, his voice small.

Garrett rips his gaze away from Fenris's shaking shoulders - and he's torn between thinking _it's cute, how he laughs with his whole body, even when he's trying to cover it up_ and _what a fucking asshole_ , but that's another problem entirely - and looks back to Seamus, who looks ever so sad.

Garrett must fix this. _He must_.

"Look," he says gently, really hoping he's not about to end this conversation with another declaration that he can't date someone because they're like a son to him. That surely can only happen to a man so many times in one's life. "You're... really mature for your age, and that's awesome. And when you're eighteen and super mature, it makes sense to want to date older people. Especially people like me, because I'm handsome and very mature and extremely awesome." Seamus smiles a little at that, and one of Fenris's coughs sounds suspiciously like a loud snort. Garrett ignores that and continues. "But honestly? Most of the time, you really _don't_  want someone my age dating you, okay? Because if they say yes without hesitation, without taking into consideration what that age gap means, they're probably an asshole. And if they _do_  mention the age difference and go for it anyway, they could be doing it because they get off on power imbalance, and that's really shitty. Not everyone is like that, but..." Garrett clasps his hands together. "Unfortunately, a lot of guys are. I'm not saying you're, like, a young innocent flower in the first blush of youth who's bound to be taken advantage of. You're smart, and you probably have your shit together way more than most guys out there. But trust me when I say, nine times out of ten, if a guy my age is okay with dating a teenager, they're not a good guy."

"You're a good guy," Seamus says quietly. 

"I try," Garrett says, shrugging. "But that's why I'm saying no. Which sucks, because you're really awesome and incredibly handsome, but you're going to have to trust me on this one, okay? Also," he adds, "your aforementioned over-protective dad is my landlord, and I really don't want to be kicked out of my house."

Seamus laughs at that.

They talk a little longer, finishing their coffees and Garrett giving Seamus as much school advice as he can pass along - where to go, who to talk to, how to get in. It's Seamus who packs up first, still looking a little disappointed, but Garrett thinks he's gotten through to him. He hopes. 

They say their goodbyes and Seamus leaves.

Garrett is lost in his thoughts for a few moments, wondering vaguely if it isn't too late and Dumar isn't already drafting up an eviction notice for taking his underage son out for coffee, when Fenris sweeps in, gathering up empty cups and seeming to be in a _far_ better mood than he was earlier.

"Please, please don't say anything," Garrett says quietly.

"Of course," Fenris says, smirking. _And fuck, does he ever look good when he's smirking._  "You're a friend, Hawke. I wouldn't want to have to hand you over to the police for cradle-robbing."

"God, they should just slap me in handcuffs and have done with it," Garrett groans, putting his head in his hands. "I'm going to murder Isabela."

"Hmm." 

Garrett looks up to see Fenris eyeing him a little oddly, and says, "What?"

"It's just an interesting proposition, is all," Fenris says, wiping down the table.

"Murdering Isabela? I wouldn't be the first to try, and I mean that literally."

Fenris shakes his head, still smirking a little. "The other thing."

He gathers up his rag and dishes and walks away, leaving Garrett sitting there alone, utterly confused. He doesn't respond when Garrett calls after him, " _What_  other thing?" though he's certain Fenris can still hear him. 

He's already in his car when it hits him. " _They should just slap me in handcuffs and have done with it._ "

He does not stop, he does not pass "go." Garrett heads straight home and immediately beelines for the shower, where he jacks off to a very _vivid_  mental image involving handcuffs and an evil, stupidly hot barista (apron included).

-

Garrett can't help it. He's staring. 

The other guy might be staring back. Garrett wouldn't know. 

He wouldn't know, because the massive, hulking beast of a human in front of him, has black sclera. He tattooed his eyeballs.

_He tattooed his eyeballs._

Garrett only knows where the guy's pupils are, because he wears vivid yellow contact lenses to cover his irises.

_He tattooed his goddamned eyeballs._

"So you're a wrestler?" Garrett tries, his voice barely above a whimper. He's pretty sure this guy could crush his head in one hand, and Fenris isn't here today to help him.

Although, what exactly could Fenris even _do_? He's not sure Fenris would even come up to this guy's navel. 

"Yes," the man says, and Garrett struggles to remember his question. "I am the Arishok."

"Is that, uh- is that like a title, or your name-?"

"I am the Arishok."

"Okay."

They look at each other for another long moment, then the guy - the Arishok, sweet fuck - breaks their stare with a short grunt.

"You are not worthy," he says dismissively.

"Probably not," Garrett squeaks. _Squeaks_.

Without another word, the Arishok drains the cup of black coffee in front of him - which was fresh, full, and quite obviously boiling hot - and stands, towering over Garrett in a way that makes him feel like he's ten years old again.

He was a really awkward kid in Grade Five. He's not pleased about being transported back to that time in his life, mentally. 

Everyone watches the Arishok leave. There's no _not_  watching him. He's enormous and terrifying. Taking one's eyes off him would be utterly against natural lizard-brain instinct. The whole café seems to breathe a little sigh of relief when he maneuvers his way through the door that was clearly not built with giants in mind, letting it slam shut behind him.

"You okay, buddy?" a random customer asks, looking about as shaken as Garrett feels.

"Nope," Garrett answers, following the Arishok's example and taking a large swig of coffee.

He, unlike the Arishok, is not immune to such petty things as heat, and promptly burns his entire mouth and throat before spewing the rest of the coffee out over the table in full view of everyone in the café.

_Thank God Fenris isn't here for this._

-

"I heard you had quite the date on Thursday."

Garrett grimaces and hands Fenris a five dollar bill. He's stopped having to tell Fenris his order - Fenris usually gets a cinnamon latte going the moment Garrett steps through the door, these days. "I was not worthy."

"I find that unlikely."

"I'm flattered, but seriously - this guy was way, _way_  too much man for me. Never thought I would see the day, but there you are."

"Your friend has... interesting tastes, when it comes to choosing dates for you."

"Isabela is both a national treasure and the most terrifyingly amoral, sadistically-inclined human you will ever meet," Garrett says. "Hell, she was almost on the mark with Seamus, aside from the fact that he was still in high school."

"Such a shame," Fenris says, though his voice is a little flat. "Who is today's contender for Hawke's hand, then?"

_I love that you call me Hawke._

"Isabela said he's a rich guy out of Yaletown," Garrett says, and Fenris gives him a look that Garrett's starting to find depressingly familiar - eyebrow slightly raised, as if politely questioning all of Garrett's life choices in one single quirk of a facial muscle. "She mentioned something about sugar daddies- honestly I didn't want to know."

"Did she decide on the time?" Fenris says, handing Garrett his change. "It's quite late."

It is late - nine o'clock, in fact. The café closes in half an hour. 

"Honestly, I'm kind of glad," Garrett says, pocketing the coins. "If it means a short date, I'm all for it."

"Given how your other dates have gone, I can hardly blame you," Fenris murmurs. "Please sit, I'll have this ready for you shortly."

Garrett steps away, and pauses, watching Fenris work for a moment.

"What nights are you off?" he asks, and Fenris glances up with a bemused expression.

"It varies from week to week, though I usually have Mondays and Tuesdays off for certain," Fenris says.

"I'm holding you to your word, you know," Garrett says, lifting his phone. "You should come hang out with us. Bela wasn't lying about the cheap booze."

Fenris smiles crookedly. "I don't recall giving my word that I would come."

"You said you could be convinced, and the most convincing thing I can think of is cheap booze."

"You make a strong argument," Fenris says. His smile broadens a little, and he looks down at his work. "Text me if you're headed that way, and I might just show up."

"I really, really hope you do," Garrett says, a little softer than he meant to.

Fenris glances up at him again, a bit of that shyness in his expression, but he's still smiling.

Garrett's barely taken a seat when the door bursts open and an older man strides in, looking vaguely distracted. He's wearing a business suit of some kind, his blond hair buzzed short, and there's an odd set to his face that immediately puts Garrett on edge.

The man's eyes light on Garrett, and he nods, closing the distance between them "You're Garrett, yes? I'm Cavril."

"Nice to meet you," Garrett says, noticing that the guy isn't sitting down, just standing there.

"Well, come on, then," Cavril says with a bit of a huff. "I've had a very long day, and there's a cab waiting outside."

"I- what, now?"

"Dear Lord," Cavril says, rolling his eyes. "I know what it is men like you want. This is how it works - you get in the car, I buy you all kinds of nice things, we have a nice evening together. Doesn't that sound good? That is why you're here, correct?"

"Not really," Garrett says, feeling entirely wrong-footed now. "Sorry, I was thinking- I kind of thought this was more of a coffee date?"

Cavril's not really listening, and with a short _tsk_  he grabs Garrett's wrist, pulling at his arm. "The cab isn't going to wait forever, kid."

"Whoa, wait a sec-"

Whatever Garrett was going to do or say is immediately cut off by a small figure suddenly _appearing_ between them, ripping Cavril's hand from Garrett's wrist and twisting him around, all but throwing him forward until the man's face is being squished against a café wall, his arm twisted up behind him.

Garrett's mouth has fallen open, he knows. He's never seen _anyone_  move that fast.

But there's Fenris, nearly a full head shorter than Cavril but keeping him pinned painfully hard against that wall anyway, and even from this angle with Fenris's face mostly turned away from him, Garrett can tell that he's _pissed._

" _Leave_ ," Fenris growls. "And _do not_  come back."

" _Jesus!_ " Cavril shouts, his voice high and trembling a little. Garrett almost feels bad for him. "You better watch your fucking back, kid, I've got- I've got lawyers that'll-"

"Then we will test to see who is faster," Fenris says, his voice clipped and low and seething. "Your lawyers, or my fist."

Holy. Fucking. _Shit._

Fenris releases Cavril, and the man bolts out of the café so fast Garrett's pretty fucking sure he left his shadow behind.

Fenris watches the door a moment, shaking with an anger that Garrett doesn't understand, before turning towards him. Fenris's eyes soften a little, but that rage is still there, following preset lines around his mouth and between his brows. 

"Are you alright?" Fenris asks quietly, concerned.

"I'm- yeah, I'm totally fine, thanks. Um. Holy shit?" Garrett rubs his wrist a little - it doesn't hurt, but he's still trying to wrap his head around the fact that some guy actually grabbed him with the full intention of dragging him off to some cab. Sure, Garrett's pretty fucking confident that he could have shut that whole thing down in an instant himself, being six foot and all, but it was still unsettling, to say the least. "That- all happened very fast."

"Does your friend not have _any_  standards for these men beyond a willingness to have sex with someone they just met?" Fenris snarls. "You could have been hurt, he- men like that have _no business_  getting involved in _anybody's_  life."

"I'm sure she didn't know," Garrett says softly. "It's okay, Fen."

"It is _not_."

The vehemence of Fenris's anger startles Garrett a little, and for a moment, he doesn't know what to say. This is a side of Fenris he hasn't seen before, possibly a small hint at the reasons for the haunted look in his eyes, the premature lines in his face.

Fenris closes his eyes and turns away, his breathing slowing as he appears to try to collect himself.

"I apologize," he says eventually, his voice a little calmer but still strained with anger. "I'm... not myself, right now."

"It's okay," Garrett says gently, standing. Fenris is still shaking a little, but it doesn't seem like it's entirely from anger anymore. "Are you alright?"

"Am I-?" Fenris lets out a startled little laugh, though there's not a lot of humour in it. "I wasn't the one who was just assaulted by a stranger."

"Yeah, but I was rescued by a handsome knight in shining armour, and I mean that in the best way, so it evens out," Garrett says.

Fenris's laugh is a little gentler this time, but he still seems upset. He's walking away before Garrett can say anything else, though.

"I'll put your coffee in a to-go cup," Fenris says, disappearing behind the counter. "I- I imagine you'll be wanting to head home."

"I can stick around a little longer," Garrett says, joining Fenris at the counter and leaning his elbows on the vinyl surface. "Really, I should be buying _you_  coffee. That was... well, that's the second time you've come to my rescue now, actually."

"Another time, maybe," Fenris says, his voice quiet and rueful as he pours Garrett's coffee into a travel cup and slides a cardboard sleeve around it. "I'm sorry, I'm just- truly not the best company, when I'm-" he bites his lip, sliding Garrett's coffee over the counter towards him. "I'm sorry."

"Fen, it's really, really okay," Garrett says, ignoring the screaming instinct to vault the counter and hug him, because whenever anyone's upset that's usually his first move. "Just- let me know if you need anything. And I'm still gonna text you about coming out with us next week."

"I'll be fine, and... please do," Fenris says. 

Garrett's almost at the door when Fenris calls his name.

He pauses, and looks back to see Fenris staring at the countertop, not him. 

"Be... safe," Fenris says. "Please."

"I will," Garrett says. "You too, yeah?"

Fenris nods, but doesn't look back up at him. It makes it very hard to force himself through the door, leaving Fenris there behind the counter, looking utterly lost in his own head and his face shadowed with some deep emotion that Garrett can't begin to comprehend.

-

"It's not much of a defence, but _in_  my defence, his Tinder profile was just a screenshot of his bank account balance."

Garrett rolls his eyes and takes a long swig of his beer, everyone around the table giving Isabela mixed looks of fondness, utter lack of surprise, and in Beth's case, annoyance and no small amount of outrage. "What was it, then?"

"All you need to know is that it had seven figures. It was very impressive."

"Bela, the guy _grabbed_  Garrett," Bethany says, looking ready to fight the guy herself. "That's really fucked up."

"I do feel _bad_  about it, but- I mean, Garrett's a big boy, isn't he?"

"It's okay, Bethy," Garrett says, patting her shoulder. "He wouldn't have gotten far, I promise. I still remember that throw Ri insisted on teaching all of us."

"I can't believe they're doing another six-day," Anders says with a grimace and a quick glance to Marian's empty seat. "She's going to be dead when she comes home in the morning."

"I want to hear a little more about this ninja barista," Varric says, leaning across the table to grab the pitcher, filling up his glass with more beer. "Why haven't I heard about him yet? I've been back for four days, I would have thought you all would have caught me up by now."

"He's a recent discovery," Isabela shrugs. "Garrett's been holding out on us. He's completely in love with the guy."

" _What?_ " say Beth and Anders, turning to look at Garrett with wide eyes.

"Jinx," Garrett mutters sourly. "Thanks, Bela."

"Anytime."

"Alright, one: who is this man, and two: if Garrett's in love with someone, why the fuck are you still pimping him out on Tinder dates?" Andy asks, staring incredulously at Bela.

"The man in question is a sinfully attractive and enticingly mysterious barista who's been in the front-row seat for many of Garrett's unsuccessful attempts at getting laid," Isabela explains. Garrett keeps drinking. "However, Garrett _sort_  of, _maybe, almost_  asked him out, and he said he wasn't looking to date anyone right now."

"Oh, bad luck, brother," Beth says sympathetically, patting Garrett's arm. Andy winces.

Varric looks thoughtful.

"So, Rivaini, you've been setting up these dates," Varric says. "And after finding out about Garrett's secret love-?"

"Dear _God,_  guys-"

"I told him that the best cure for a broken heart is to move on," Isabela says. "So Garrett's continuing with his dates, and Fen - that's the man's name - has been a very _helpful_  friend in all this. Front row seats, like I said."

Varric looks at her for a long moment, then his face lights up in a broad grin. "Oh, good _girl_ , Rivaini."

"I'm missing something," Garrett says lamely, looking between the two of them. "What the fuck am I missing?"

"Absolutely nothing," Isabela says sweetly. "More beer?"

-

Fenris seems to be in a better mood when Garrett slips into the café a few days later for his eighth and hopefully _final_  awkward, awful Tinder date. Still, after catching sight of Garrett's arrival, his gaze seems suddenly glued to the floor as Garrett approaches. 

Before Fenris can say anything, Garrett says quickly, "I got you something."

That seems to surprise Fenris into looking up at him, blinking. "Pardon?"

"For being awesome and stopping that guy from being a douche," Garrett says, holding up a brown paper bag. "My sister Bethany makes the best peanut butter cookies on the planet, and I thought- well, cookies, am I right?"

Fenris, predictably, goes a little red, but he smiles. It's a little rueful though, and the reason for this is very quickly revealed as he says quietly, "Ah, I'm- allergic, actually. To peanuts."

"Oh shit," Garrett says, stepping back with the bag. "How bad?"

Fenris's face tightens in an embarrassed wince, and it's all Garrett needs to see.

"I'll be right back," he says, and bolts out of the café. 

There's a homeless man about half a block away, and after Garrett is _certain_  he's not about to kill the poor guy given that peanuts are a stupidly common allergy, he gives him the entire bag of cookies. The smile on the man's face definitely helps lessen the guilt a little, but there's still no escaping the fact that he just tried to thank the hot guy who saved him from a creep with _attempted murder._

Back through the café, and zipping past Fenris to the washroom, where he scrubs his hands. Twice. With lots of soap.

He emerges panting a little, and approaches the counter, where Fenris has already finished making his coffee and slides it over to him with raised brows, still quite pink. "Hawke-"

"I didn't eat any earlier today, just last night, and I brushed my teeth twice- no, three times since then," Garrett says, not wanting to stand too close. "Is that okay, or-?"

"It's _fine_ , Hawke," Fenris says, seeming more amused than annoyed. "Really, I swear I'm not about to drop dead from being within a few feet of the dreaded peanut. It was... very kind of you to think of me."

"I could have killed you," Garrett says, daring to shuffle forward enough to snatch up his coffee. "Do you carry an Epipen around with you? I know how to use one."

"No," Fenris says, shrugging. "It doesn't seem necessary."

"My roommate's a nurse, and he would go ballistic if he heard that," Garrett says, shaking his head. "So yeah, um, again, sorry for that. I give the worst gifts - I would say it's part of my charm, but-"

"I really don't mind," Fenris says quietly. "I... honestly, I'm just- glad to see you. I was afraid you might not want to, um, speak with me, after what happened."

Garrett blinks. "After you- why wouldn't I want to talk to you?"

"I was... angry," Fenris says, seeming to lose the ability to look Garrett in the eye again. "It's not- pleasant, to be around. I don't- I'm sorry you had to see that."

Garrett steps closer, needing to make this _right_ , somehow. "Fen-"

"Ah, it seems dear Isabela did not exaggerate."

Garrett turns away from Fenris to see a lean blond man with dark skin behind him, smiling wickedly. His voice is accented with a Spanish lilt, and there's an easy sensuality in his posture that keeps Garrett's eyes lingering in certain places a little longer than strictly necessary. _Damn._

"Zevran," the man says, extending a hand. Garrett shakes it, a little in awe. "You're Garrett."

"How could you tell?" Garrett finds himself asking.

Zevran looks him over, and says, "She warned me about the plaid."

Garrett laughs. "Isabela just doesn't understand a man's need to express his cultural identity."

"And yours is Canadian lumberjack," Zevran says with a _very_  sexy smirk. "I can respect that. And who is our brooding friend, here?"

Garrett looks back at Fenris to find Zevran's description incredibly accurate - the embarrassment and remorse in Fenris's expression has fallen away, replaced with a sourness that Garrett recognizes from his "date" with Seamus.

"I am not brooding," Fenris mutters. "What can I get for you?"

"Oh, something sweet," Zevran says, placing a twenty on the counter. "That should cover Mr Hawke's drink as well, and please keep the change. Where shall we sit?"

"I've kind of got a regular table here," Garrett says, still puzzling over Fenris's bizarre mood swing.

"Then by all means, lead the way."

It only takes a few minutes of conversation for Garrett to decide that he likes Zevran. He really, _really_  likes Zevran. He's flirty without being aggressive or pushy, and there's a quick wit and intelligence behind that handsome face that Garrett finds himself responding to easily. Zevran, Garrett discovers, is a lawyer.

"An independent, though it was not always so," Zevran says. "I once worked for a very large firm of very bad people."

"What happened?" Garrett asks, genuinely intrigued. 

"There comes a time in everyone's life where one must examine what it is, exactly, they are doing, and why they are doing it," Zevran says. "I do not mind punching up - occasionally taking advantage of the over-advantaged, showing no mercy where none was given in the first place. The Crows, however, had quite a bad habit of punching _down._  Really very lazy on their part, but easier to win cases that way, and all they seemed to care about was their near-spotless record. They were quite put-out when I left."

"It's pretty cool that you did," Garrett says. "A lot of people wouldn't have, if they were making serious money, you know?"

"There are always other ways to secure a comfortable income," Zevran says, with a bit of a catlike grin. "Now, I am known as one of the only independent lawyers who can go up against the Crows in a courtroom and win. This puts me in demand. It works out, see?"

"You must be very talented," Garrett says, allowing the innuendo some breathing room in his words. 

Zevran catches it, and his smile widens. "I have heard it said."

A coffee is placed before Zevran, a little less gently than a ceramic cup should probably be treated, and Fenris looks like he's spent the last five minutes watching a slug having sex with another slug on top of a urinal and is trying unsuccessfully to keep the horror and disgust of such an incident from impacting his customer service. Garrett's a little worried for him, in all honesty.

"Is everything alright for you, then?" Fenris asks, his voice forcibly bland.

"Wonderful, thank you," Zevran says with an honest smile, and Garrett likes that, too. "We will let you know if you need anything else."

Fenris grunts something that might have been polite if said aloud, and retreats to his spot behind the counter, glowering at the milk steamer.

"Huh," Zevran says absently, watching him go. "Very interesting."

"Hmm?" Garrett asks.

Zevran watches Fenris a moment longer, then looks to Garrett, eventually shrugging and saying, "Nothing. Now tell me, how has my dear Isabela been?"

They pass the time easily, swapping stories about Isabela and their different lines of work, and... Garrett's starting to think he can actually do this. Zevran is funny, and kind, and _incredibly_  sexy. For once, it seems like Isabela's struck him a home run. 

Garrett's so wrapped up in the conversation that he barely notices the time passing, and soon it's nearly nine-thirty and the café is closing. They'd met at seven thirty, so it isn't entirely surprising, but Garrett is still amazed at how quickly the hours disappeared.

"Perhaps we should relocate," Zevran says, something decidedly wicked in his eyes, and _man_ , is Garrett ever ready to find out where that leads. "Shall we?"

"Sure," Garrett says, standing with Zevran and gathering his things. "Any ideas?"

"A few," Zevran says, grinning. "None that are appropriate to voice in our current setting, however."

"Fair enough," laughs Garrett. He looks over his shoulder back to Fenris, who's wiping the counters with a disturbing amount of speed and force, like he's trying to strip the vinyl from the wood with his terry cloth, and... it just feels _wrong,_  for a moment, doing this. Leaving with Zevran, when the man he really wants is here, and unhappy, and torturing the furniture with a healthy mix of Windex and brute force.

But that isn't fair, and he doesn't want to be one of those obsessive creeps who can't take a hint and move the fuck on. No, he needs to do this. He has to sleep with Zevran.

For Fenris's sake.

_Wow, well done on the logical reasoning there, buddy._

"Bye, Fen," he calls.

Fenris looks up, his expression unreadable, but whatever he's feeling there's certainly a _lot_  of it there. "Have a good night, Hawke."

Garrett smiles, and follows Zevran out the door.

They make it about five steps away from the café when Zevran turns to Garrett, arms crossed, and sighs. "Isabela is a darling woman, but one must never listen to her advice. How long have you had feelings for our cantankerous server back there?"

Garrett gapes a little, utterly thrown. "I- uh-"

"It's painfully obvious, my friend," Zevran says, though he's very kind about it. "And because it is painfully obvious, I imagine Isabela is aware. She told me to, and I quote, "bed Garrett come Hell or high water tonight," so I can only imagine you are here at her insistence."

"Not _just_  at her insistence," Garrett says, managing to find his voice. "I've had- I've honestly had a really great time getting to know you, and- yes, you're right, I kind of have a thing for Fenris, and I'm sorry about that, but he said he didn't want to date anyone and Isabela said I should move on-"

"Ah," Zevran says. "These dates she's been setting up for you, then. She wanted you to keep going."

"Yeah, and honestly I'm not sure if it's fair to these poor guys, and I'm- really sorry, essentially. Isabela-"

"-is a force of nature," Zevran says with a knowing grin. "I believe you. My only criticism is that you are far too trusting of her intentions."

Garrett blinks. "Eh?"

"My dear man," Zevran says. "You told her that your barista was not interested, despite the fact that it is abundantly clear to anyone with eyes that this is not this case. She told you to continue seeing other men, at the same café where this man works. In front of him. Do you not see what she might have been planning?"

Garrett blinks again. And again. "No?"

"Oh dear," Zevran says. "And I thought you were clever. She wanted to make him _jealous_ , Garrett. Wanted to give him a little nudge into making a move, before you get snatched up by one a little more daring."

Garrett's eyebrows make a break for the stratosphere, leaving Garrett to stare at Zevran, wide-eyed. "She- but she said she wanted me to move on!"

"Likely because you do not seem the type to purposefully use other people in the hopes you might make someone you wish to be close with uncomfortable," Zevran sighs, shaking her head. "Dear woman. Unfortunately, she was taught to use her heart as a weapon long ago. She seems much happier now, with your sister, but... it is a hard thing to unlearn."

Garrett crosses his arms, thinking, and feeling incredibly stupid for not catching wise to Isabela's plan earlier. Fuck, _Varric_  clearly got the gist in seconds. 

"You really think I have a chance with Fen, then?" he says. 

"The man looked ready to drag me out by my hair for flirting with you," Zevran says dryly. "It seemed a good sign. Now he thinks I have taken you to my place to ravish you. I'm very, _very_  saddened to say I cannot in good conscience do that, but you can use his assumption however you wish."

It doesn't take long for Garrett to make up his mind.

"I'll- talk to him, at least," he says. "He should be getting off in a few minutes. Are you okay to get home?"

"I think that is a very good choice, and I am wonderful," Zevran says, smiling. "And I wish you luck, Garrett Hawke. Any man would be lucky to have you."

He leans up and presses a very soft kiss to Garrett's cheek, then walks away.

Garrett watches him go, admiring the fit of his black pants and smart blazer. He's only human, after all.

He waits another ten minutes for Fenris to emerge from the café, locking the doors with a jingling set of keys. It's weird, seeing him without the apron. He's still wearing those blissfully tight skinny jeans, but he's thrown a large grey hoodie zip-up over the ensemble that falls halfway to his knees, a hole at the elbow and his slim hands and wrists almost drowning in the sleeves. It's... perfect on him, somehow.

Fenris doesn't notice Garrett right away, but he stops short when he finally sees him, his eyes wide and glinting a little in the light of the street lamp. 

"I thought you left," he says, a little flatly, staring at Garrett like he isn't entirely sure he's really there. 

"It... didn't feel right," Garrett says, bouncing a little on the balls of his feet and trying to shove his nerves to the back of his mind. "Listen, Fen, I- I kind of asked before, but not directly, and I really don't want to push anything, or- or make you uncomfortable-"

It's all very sudden, when it happens.

One moment, Fenris is in front of the door, staring at him, seeming utterly thrown by Garrett's very existence in this time and place.

Then, he's got his fists balled up in the fabric of Garrett's plaid shirt, leaning up on his toes a little and pulling Garrett down to kiss him. 

Garrett is a romantic guy. He knows this about himself, so he tries to be realistic as often as he can. He tries to tell himself not to expect fireworks when that touted "first kiss" with "someone special" happens, he tries to tell himself that descriptions of feeling whole in someone else's arms and just _knowing_  when something is _right_  - well, it's all bullshit peddled by romance novels and movies and Hallmark cards. It's not fair to himself, to anyone, to think that these things are real. To expect any of it. To hope for any of it.

But when Fenris kisses Garrett, he could _swear_  there are fireworks going off somewhere - in his head, in his chest, rattling around, burning him in _just_ the right way with light and colour. In the light of the Gastown street lamps he kisses Fenris back like he was born to this, wraps his arms around Fenris like there was never a time when the circle of Garrett's embrace wasn't meant for him. Fenris leans into him, _melts_  into him, his breath ghosting over Garrett's lips as he pulls back a little, just to breathe, before closing the distance again, a single tattooed hand coming up to trace the line of Garrett's chin, coming to rest against Garrett's cheek.

Garrett could probably do this forever. He could, very probably, live his life kissing this man under the street lamps of Gastown in the very last minutes of late spring dusk, holding Fenris close in his arms.

Fenris pulls away again, this time for good, and Garrett wants to commit the dazed, heavy-lidded look on Fenris's face to memory, so much of the green of Fenris's eyes swallowed up by blown pupils.

"Fen..." Garrett says, barely a whisper.

Fenris stares up at him a moment longer, lips slightly parted and panting, a little. He's _beautiful_.

Then, his mouth closes and his lips thin, and before Garrett can ask if he's alright Fenris swallows and says, "I have to go."

Garrett's arms fall to his sides and Fenris quickly walks away, all but breaking into a sprint as he hurries down the sidewalk of Water Street, and turns the first corner he gets to, disappearing into the night.

Garrett stands alone in the light of the Gastown street lamps, his lips still tingling from Fenris's kiss, and wonders what the everloving fuck just happened.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> IT'S TIME FOR NOOOOOTES!
> 
> \- Anders mentions a six-day! A six-day is a wonderful film thing where sometimes you get to work six days in a row. Six-day pay is awesome. But it also means you've worked anywhere from fifteen to twenty hours, every day, for six days. Do the math, and weep with me.
> 
> \- Dear teenage readers: if I have one piece of advice I wish I'd listened to when I was younger, it can essentially be boiled down to *don't trust older guys*. I've seen exactly one case wherein a friend of mine started a relationship with a guy when she was eighteen and he was almost thirty, and he's actually a great guy and they're wonderful together. One case. In many, many cases, some of them my own. Someone in their late twenties, early thirties, should NOT want to date a teenager. Keep yourselves safe. Listen to Hawke. He speaks truth.
> 
> \- Yaletown is a really pretty, really fucking expensive area of Vancouver. Surprisingly, more than a few guys I know have dated rich guys from Yaletown. If you're a gay dude looking for a sugar daddy, that is *the place* to go.
> 
> \- Carry an Epipen around with you if you're allergic to something really bad for the love of God, it literally saved my life a few weeks ago (which is one first date story I don't think I'm ever going to live down). Do not be Fenris. Be FoxNonny. And not teenage FoxNonny who was an idiot and nearly got themselves killed a few times by eating whatever was in front of them and carrying around an expired Epipen. That FoxNonny was, as previously stated, an idiot.
> 
> \- This is not the last we're gonna see of Zevran, btw. Or Seamus probably. Defs the last we're gonna see of Cavril, though. Farewell, asshole.
> 
> \- Also not the last we're gonna see of dear, emotionally constipated Fenris (THEY KISSED THOUGH LIKE EY AMIRITE). Expect some slow burning after this though (but not that slow). 
> 
> \- When I thought up the title for this chapter I literally laughed aloud for a full five minutes and immediately went to tell my roommate who was not as impressed with me as I was. If you got the reference and laughed you get a cyber cookie (the good kind, I promise). If you didn't get the reference and laughed anyway you also get a cyber cookie and my unending gratitude.
> 
> As always, I feed off comments and kudos like a Dementor feeds off the happiness and souls of others. I love you all, and I hope this chapter delivered. I'm going to nap and regret my entire life in a few hours.
> 
> P.S. You can tattoo your eyeballs. I'm. Honestly I rarely blink at body mods because they're pretty cool and I love people taking ownership of their bodies through modifications but the raised slightly conservative Catholic (I know) (I'm neither slightly conservative nor Catholic anymore I'm like the direct opposite and Catholic school is largely to blame for that) in me is like: YOU CAN TATTOO YOUR EYEBALLS??????? WHY.


	9. Fallout: New Vagueness

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> holy balls everyone I somehow managed to get a chapter out this week. also I finally wrote that barbershop quartet. I am going to hate myself when I have to get up in five hours but right now I'm pretty happy so eyy HAVE A CHAPTER.

Marian is tired as fuck.

There are no words to describe the type of exhaustion one can achieve after working for six days in a row, nearly twenty hours each day. Hell, she knows it's worse for the kids in her department given how long they have to stand, while she's able to hide somewhere dark and quiet for the most part. But still. She's exhausted.

Usually at the end of a shoot, this last day is so gratifying, that last second you have to work before going home, that release - it's almost better than sex. It definitely would be if the sex Marian's been having was with someone other than Isabela. Usually Marian has at least a day or two to sleep before moving on to the next thing - longer, if she's able to plan it right.

Not this time.

She's been working two jobs at once, essentially - fulfilling her ALM duties on this dumb fuckery of an MOW, and taking every spare moment to e-mail back and forth with the Inquisition people, to start shaping up their team. Her production coordinator is a frighteningly efficient woman named Josie who Marian is absolutely certain is more qualified to be doing her job than she is, but she's been grateful for Josie's experience and her helpful bits of advice along the way.

Every once in a while, she gets to see her family and friends, gets to hang out with them at the Hanged Man like nothing has changed. She drinks a little more than usual so she can fall asleep the moment she gets home, then wake up in four hours to start working again. 

She knows that's not an option tonight, however. It's one thing coming to work dead-eyed and a little hungover when you're working on set and everyone is dead-eyed and a little hungover, either from alcohol or lack of sleep. Tomorrow, however, she has a production meeting to attend, and if she has any hope of convincing her coworkers that she isn't entirely incompetent or inexperienced, she has to be on her best behaviour.

It's a bizarre feeling, caring this much what others think of her. It has a lot to do with the six-figure salary they've offered her. Images of new cars and Isabela draped in gold jewelry (and nothing else) drive her to this newfound mindfulness. 

It feels a lot like being a grown-up. Marian isn't sure she likes it.

Still, she goes to the Hanged Man after everything is finally wrapped and done to catch up with her roommates and various assorted friends and family, and to grab a quick coffee so she can stay up tonight to go over draft five hundred of the pilot script. _Joy._

It's a full house tonight - Isabela, Bethany, Anders, Varric, even Carver and Aveline are all here.

And Garrett. Who's facedown on the table, which - given the sticky, stained, crunchy state of most of the tables in the Hanged Man - really speaks to his state of mind. _Uh oh._

"Did someone order him a Long Island again?" Marian sighs, taking a seat. "You know he drinks that shit like juice. I'm not carrying him home."

Bethany shakes her head, patting Garrett gently on the back with a sympathetic expression. "He kissed a boy."

Marian blinks. "And he liked it?"

"Before the faceplant he was muttering something about Granville Island and wedding vows," Carver says, looking vaguely nauseated. "But because it's Garrett, something clearly got fucked up along the way. Probably scared him off."

" _I_ didn't scare him off!" Garrett exclaims, rising abruptly from the table like a mummy being shot up from its coffin. Bethany jumps back with a little shriek. "He scared _himself_  off! Who even _does_ that?!"

Marian looks at Isabela, who looks back at her. Both of them clear their throats and return their focus to Garrett.

"Was he a good kisser, at least?" Marian asks, propping her elbows up on the table. "And was this one of Bela's hook-ups?"

"Bela's hook-up was hot," Garrett mutters, staring at his empty glass with a forlorn expression. "But _nooo_ , no hooking up with hot Spaniards for _me._  I'm ruined. It's awful. He's got this sweater that's too big for him and it's so fucking cute and it's _awful_."

Marian looks accusingly at Varric, who shrugs. "We never said we _didn't_  order him a Long Island."

"It's really too bad," Isabela muses, sipping her rum and Coke thoughtfully. "Zev's just the right kind of kinky for a one-night stand. You can't trust him with handcuffs, though - he'll lose the key and he's a _terrible_  lock-pick. 

Aveline stares into her beer like it's her only tether to the physical world, and takes a sip. 

"So who is this mystery kisser, anyway?" Marian asks. "I've been out of the loop for too long, it seems."

"Hot barista," Isabela says, snaking her arm around Marian's waist. "I would have told you sooner, darling, but we don't have a lot of time at home together these days and, well. Orgasms come first. _Oh!_ I made a pun!"

Bethany, Carver, Garrett, and Aveline all wince in tandem. Varric snorts, and Andy looks a little too intrigued for Marian's liking.

Then he shakes his head, and says, "Look, Garrett, he sounds like a dick to me, stringing you along like that. You don't just kiss someone and run away."

"He doesn't have this guy's phone number, does he?" Marian asks. "I love you, Gare, but you have a bad habit of worry-texting and it tends to make things worse."

"Carver and I managed to wrestle it away from him just before text number four," Aveline says grimly. "He was in the midst of writing something about leaving the guy alone forever or adopting him."

Marian winces. "Garrett, you can't just offer to adopt someone because you like them. That's creepy."

"I meant it as adopting him as part of our friend group!" Garrett says, as if this is the most obvious thing in the world. "You're all like family to me!"

"You and I drunkenly hooked up last year after your mom's birthday party," Anders says, lifting his brows a little.

"Which is _why_  it's not meant incestuously!" Garrett says, waving a hand and nearly smacking Bethany in the face. "It makes perfect sense to _normal_ people."

"Well, if we see any of those around, we'll let you know," Carver mutters.

"Look," says Aveline, soft and sincere. "Garrett, if I've learned anything, it's that no matter how much chemistry you have with a person, at the end of the day you want someone dependable. The best relationships grow out of mutual respect and understanding. It may not be flashy, or quite as romantic as Hollywood makes it out to be, but it's _real_. If it's meant to be, it will happen. But we all know you have a habit of falling very quickly, and it's not fair to you or the people you've fallen for."

"Though we know you're not one of those assholes who pursues someone who isn't interested," Bethany adds. "And we know you try not to put people up on pedestals - not intentionally, at least. You're a really good guy, Garrett. If this guy can't see that, it's his problem."

Garrett stares at the table, frowning slightly, rubbing his fingers over his beard. 

Eventually, he nods, and says, "I should call him."

A large groan from everyone present echoes around the table.

-

**To: Fenris**

hey just hoping you got home okay and sorry if I did something stupid not your fault still would love to see you at the hanged man sometime I think isabela would probably snap my neck if I didn't invite you

**To: Fenris**

I mean also I would want you there too obviously not because isabela wants you there it just happens to be a perk 

**To:**   **Fenris**

sorry I know I'm texting too much you don't have to reply, hell I never reply half the time like if someone sends me a message that just says "hey" I'm like "buddy I need a little more to go on" but also if you ever sent me a message that just said "hey" I'd probably respond because you're a special case and I feel like you'd follow up with a little more than just "'sup" and have you ever had a long island iced tea because man that stuff tastes like nestea it's amazing you're really??? great???

**To: Fenris** (Draft)

sorry for that last bit its the tea talking the evil tea but the tea has a point you're really great and if you want me to leave you alone forever that's super cool and understandab;e and no worries but also if you like I kind of want to adopt you into my circle of freinalmd34=;/

-

The upside, is Isabela has stopped planning Tinder dates for Garrett. 

The downside, is that aside from grading exams and papers and teaching Kitty to count to ten while Archie sits on his head and Haunt glares down loftily from the top of the cat tree, Garrett has nothing to distract him from the crushing reality of his currently Fen-less existence. 

He replays that kiss in his mind on a loop, as hard as he tries not to. He thinks of how Fenris had to pull him down by his shirt to meet his lips, how those tapered fingers traced gently over his face like Fenris was almost afraid to touch, but so _wanted_  to. He thinks of the frayed sleeves of Fenris's grey hoodie and his white hair stuffed under a black beanie and the way he'd looked at Garrett, stunned that he'd come back. Stunned that he didn't leave with Zevran.

He thinks of how Fenris's face had changed afterward, from that brief moment of heavy, dazed happiness to concern, that flicker of uncertainty before he'd become wary, guarded. _Why?_

But even beyond just the kiss, and the feelings Garrett has for Fenris (he imagines them curled up on the couch together a lot, Fenris tucked up against his chest and covered in at least fifteen blankets), Garrett... misses him. He misses his dry humour and his careful way of talking, like he's thought about each word at least fifteen times over before speaking aloud. He misses the way Fenris teased him about his general goofiness, the quirk of his eyebrows, that slight smirk that made Garrett want to pick him up and kiss him, then maybe dump him in a pool just to spite him.

He misses that shuffling shyness whenever the conversation turned personal, the way Fenris giggled at Garrett's flirting, how his dark skin flushed when he was embarrassed, or flustered. The way he tried not to smile, and couldn't quite succeed. 

Garrett realizes fairly quickly in his brooding that while somewhat tragic, it wouldn't be the end of the world if Fenris never returned his feelings. It's not the half-imagined wild romance that Garrett misses, after all.

He misses his friend.

-

**To: Fenris**

you don't have to reply to this it's all good I just think it's important you see this picture of my roommate's cat because a) he's cute as fuck even if he did just mistake my foot for a malicious intruder on his territory and tried to gore me to death (I'm bleeding a lot) and b) he kind of reminds me of you? look at him chewing on my little toe. small but mighty. I might need stitches.

-

"...ultimately with a show like this, our budget should be focused on the _look_  - the quality of the sets, of our visual effects, etc. In terms of casting, we can afford maybe one or two big names, but a power cast of unknowns might be more worth our time and money than sacrificing visual quality so we can get Orlando Bloom on set."

There's a round of nodding following Alaine's words. Marian can only assume the people on the other end of the conference call are also nodding. Marian is staring at several spreadsheets full of very large numbers and taking notes, as well as all but shotgunning her fifth coffee of the day.

"Ideally we want a principal cast made up of actors from the UK," the scary redhead at the end of the table - _Leliana_  - says, drumming her fingertips against the table. "Both to save costs if we're picked up and we move production overseas, and for the training most UK actors have. If we want a power cast, like you say, Shakespearean actors out of the UK acting academies are our best and most reliable assets."

"Travel and lodging costs are going to eat us alive," Marian says. "I'm not saying it's a bad idea, but Vancouver is expensive as shit. If I could get a list of recurring characters that are introduced in the pilot from the writers, I can guestimate a budget for casting, and see what we can afford."

"If we could have that budget by end of day tomorrow, that would be helpful," Alaine says.  

Another round of nodding. 

Marian's phone buzzes in her pocket. As Alaine starts to float suggestions for roles that can be offered to the potential big-name actors, Marian digs her phone at of her pocket and glances briefly at her notifications. 

The first is an e-mail from the production coordinator on the freshly-wrapped MOW, titled "Wrap Party Info." Marian stifles a groan. 

There's also a message from Garrett Marian hasn't checked yet. Curious, she taps the notification and opens her messages.

 

**From: M!Hawke**

your gf's been acting cagey should I be worried

 

Marian smirks. She has no idea what Isabela is up to, but she knows her girlfriend far, far too well.

 

**To: M!Hawke**

Yes.

**From: M!Hawke**

:(

-

Garrett comes home from work with both many things, and really not very many things at all on his mind.

The things that are on his mind barely count as things, is the thing. They're filler. Utter fluff. The thoughts milling in his head range from "I wonder if we still have beer left" to "I wonder if it's worth trying to put that little wizard's hat on Haunt's head again" to "I should probably wait for Andy to get home before doing that so he can stitch me up after."

It's a heap of nothing thoughts, of empty carbs to keep him from craving thoughts that will only make him sad.

Thoughts such as, "I miss Fen's cinnamon lattes."

Thoughts such as, "I hope he's okay."

Thoughts such as, "It's been over a week. Nearly two."

Garrett's had romantic disappointments before - Sebastian, of course, being chief among them. But there was also that gorgeous golden-eyed girl back in high school who ended up marrying a guy she met in Italy on a trip with her family right out of high school (as far as Garrett can tell by the Facebook photos, they're still together and have two kids). There was the jock back in first year who kissed Garrett at a party after months of odd tension between them, leaned back, and said, "Yep. Definitely straight."

But Fen... Fen is different. Maybe because he was never really friends with the girl in high school, and the boy in first year. 

Maybe. 

Shaking thoughts both mundane and morose from his mind, Garrett steps into his room.

Frowns.

Laid out on his bed is a clean flannel plaid shirt and white undershirt, with his nicest, most ass-hugging pair of jeans, a brown leather belt, and his favourite pair of Doc Martins. It's his favourite kind of dressed-up casual - Marian calls it his hipster lumberjack look, but as she has an outfit that's virtually the same, she really can't say shit.

Garrett glances at Archie, who basks on his sunning rock and blinks at him from behind the glass of his tank. "You didn't do this, did you?"

"I did, in fact."

Garrett swallows his aborted shriek of surprise and turns with as much casualness as he can muster to see Isabela in the doorway, eyes dancing in a very, very worrying way. 

"You have too much time on your hands with Marian at work all the time," Garrett says, folding his arms. "What do you even _do_  all day?"

"In the interest of you maintaining plausible deniability, I'm going elect not to answer that," Isabela says. "Now come on, get dressed. Maybe give that bushman beard of yours a trim, splash on that "mountain man" cologne or whatever it is you dunk your head in when you want to pick up dudes. You've got a date."

Garrett gapes. "I do _not_."

"You do. I've set it up, and believe me, you're gonna thank me. It's been utterly depressing watching you mope around the place. I had to take desperate measures."

Garrett is going to kill her. He is. Marian is just going to have to either forgive him for it or enact vengeance upon the man who rightfully killed her girlfriend. At least Garrett will die satisfied.

"Tell them I have mono, whoever the poor bastard is," Garrett says shortly, turning away and tossing his laptop bag onto his desk. "If that doesn't work, tell them I died from the mono. I'm not doing this, Bela."

He can hear her huff in the doorway. "Garrett Percius Hawke-"

"That's not my middle name-"

"It is if I say it is. Do me this one favour, do me this one, _small_  favour that I ask of you, and go on this date. It truly is in your best interest."

" _Isabela-_ "

"Okay, how about this - you go on this date, or I tell Ri that you were the one who threw up on her laptop during the party in February."

Garrett straightens abruptly.

"You wouldn't."

"It's remained a mystery all this time."

"Bela, you _wouldn't._ "

"She says when it heats up she can still smell nachos and Wildcat-"

" _Okay!_ " Garrett turns with a scowl, and Isabela looks far too goddamned pleased with herself. "But I mean it - I really, _really_  mean it. Last one. And if it's another creep, or another guy who just wants to jump me, or if it's in _any way not a pleasant fucking experience_ , I'm going to..."

He blinks.

"Couldn't think of anything, could you?" Isabela says sympathetically.

" _I will._  And it will be creative and horrifying."

"I look forward to it." Isabela gives Garrett a little bow, and turns to walk away. Over her shoulder, she says, "You'll meet him in the parking lot outside Steamworks this time. Right up at the fence so you have a nice view of the water. It'll be _very_  romantic."

"I hate you," Garrett says. He can hear Isabela cackle all the way down the hall to her room. 

-

According to Isabela, his "date" is supposed to show up at six. Garrett arrives at 5:55 sharp, beard trimmed and lightly cologned, because he _hates_  Isabela. 

It's a Thursday, so parking is a little dodgy, but he manages to snag a spot as a Fiat pulls out of a far stall. He sits in the driver's seat for a moment longer as the engine cools, thinking.

"Last chance," he murmurs.

It doesn't feel right, the same way that leaving with Zevran didn't feel right. Anyone he meets right now would just be a rebound for Fenris, and he doesn't do that to people. He never wants to be a person who does that to someone else.

_Rebound? After one kiss? Christ, are you in elementary school?_

He shakes his head, and unbuckles his seatbelt. _It was a good kiss, though._

The sunlight has a perfect early-evening gold cast to it, causing the waters of Vancouver Harbour to glitter under the shadows of passing ships. Garrett ambles slowly up to the fence at the top of the parking lot, propping his elbows up on the chain link and gazing out over the activity of the harbour, the Skytain tracks below him, taking in the sea-salt air and the mingled voices and sounds of the city all around him. There's a busker nearby playing guitar, some kind of ballad, and a seagull who just won't shut the fuck up perched on a roof not too far away-

"Hawke?"

(Once, when Garrett was fifteen and on a trip to California with his family, he was knocked out by a wave.)

Garrett turns, and there's Fenris, hands stuffed in the pockets of a grey hoodie that's far too large for him, hair hidden by a black beanie, slim legs wrapped in tight black denim, looking up at Garrett with eyes that are very green, very large, and very pretty.

Garrett swallows, and tries to think of something intelligent, comforting, maybe even charming, to say.

"Are you my date?" he croaks instead.

Fenris blinks, and quirks a crooked smirk. "I'm not wearing an apron."

Garrett steps forward to- hug Fenris, possibly. Maybe sink to one knee and propose. Hopefully just hugging, though. He stops short when Fenris steps back.

They both wince.

"Sorry-" Garrett starts, and Fenris shakes his head fervently, cutting him off.

"Please don't be," Fenris says. "I've- missed you. Very much so. I was wondering if we could... talk."

It isn't really a romantic reunion. It's maybe a little awkward, and maybe Garrett has to shove his hands in his own pockets to keep from pulling Fenris into a bear hug and possibly never letting go. 

He doesn't care. Fenris is _here_. That's all that really matters.

"I would love that," Garrett says, and Fenris smiles.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think I was originally planning on making Garrett suffer a little more but honestly I want these two goobers together and there are so many!!! cool scenes I want to write!!!! so I shortened the process a bit because fuck yeah why not.
> 
> A lot of the stuff from Marian's POV as Inquisition comes together is made up from the stuff I vaguely know about the pre-production process so if it's wildly inaccurate then it's wildly inaccurate. If one of my readers is an executive producer of some kind first of all hi, I'm very flattered, and second I'm sorry.
> 
> Steamworks is a well-known restaurant right outside Waterfront Station, right on the edge of the Gastown area. I think everyone knows what a Long Island is. Wildcat is a cheap ass beer and you can get a 24-pack for like ten bucks or something stupid like that. A favourite of high schoolers and broke college students and film crews everywhere. 
> 
> As always I live for your comments and kudos and general well wishes because I love you, and especially right now every little gesture makes me want to cry with gratitude. I'm working a job that is going really well, I'm glad to say, but it's not easy, and it's going to take up 99% of my life over the next three months. If you follow me on tumblr, you've probably seen multiple minor breakdowns over music malfunctions and general shenanigans. I'm so sorry for that, and I hope you find such things entertaining rather than a little sad. 
> 
> Also, sorry for the less-than-witty title. It's not of the same quality of Nuts n' Bolts, I'm afraid. Hopefully my skill for puns returns from the war soon.
> 
> Coming up in future chapters: a karaoke scene, a wrap party with tons of character cameos, an unexpected return of a previously mentioned character in perhaps not a way people might expect, and general shenanigans as well as enough Canadiana to put a Tim Hortons on Canada Day to shame (and they have maple iced caps now). I love you, you're wonderful, and feel free to drop me a line at my tumblr (same name as my ao3).


	10. Don't Motorboat the Cookies

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The title has nothing to do with the chapter. It's just some words of wisdom I said in rehearsal yesterday. No, context will not help. All I can say is that the cookies remained unmotorboated. 
> 
> Alternatively titled, "FoxNonny's Adventures in Smalltown, BC: Why Does No One Lock Their Doors"
> 
> Lots of talking in this chapter. It's all talking. I'm so sorry. BUT NEXT CHAPTER IS KARAOKE SO.

Garrett has a song stuck in his head. Part of a song.

Part of a Weird Al song. It's not exactly setting the mood well for this kind-of date with the man of his dreams.

They found a table in Steamwork's basement close to a window, looking out over the waters of the harbour. There was a very long awkward silence, as Fenris did not seem particularly inclined to speak, and Garrett didn't want to rush him. He was very much afraid that Fenris might bolt again, and really did not want that to happen. For obvious reasons.

They leapt to order drinks when the server came by - Garrett got the first beer his eyes landed on when he glanced at the menu (Black Angel IPA), and Fenris just gritted out the words "cheap red" before falling into silence once more. 

Now they wait, and Garrett has a Weird Al stuck in his head as he alternates between watching seagulls play an odd game of chicken dive-bombing the Skytrain tracks, and glancing nervously at Fenris, occasionally catching him doing the exact same damn thing back at him.

And accompanying this little dance, is the dulcet tones of Weird Al, in his head:

_He looked at me..._

Garrett feels Fenris's eyes on him again, and looks over just in time to watch Fenris quickly return his attention back to the waves and the ocean.

_...and I looked at him._

Garrett smiles awkwardly and pulls out his phone. There's a new text. 

**From: BigBootyBitch**

YOU'RE WELCOME NOW ENJOY

 

Garrett snorts, catching Fenris's attention.

_He looked at me-_

"Isabela," Garrett says, and Fenris echoes his snort. 

- _and I looked at him._

Fenris seems ready to turn away again, but feeling bold, Garrett leans forward. "Fen-"

"Your drinks- oh, sorry."

Fenris and Garrett both perk up considerably, assuring the server that she did absolutely nothing wrong as they take hold of their drinks the way drowning men might take hold of a life raft. 

Garrett takes a healthy swig, and watches with interest as Fenris proceeds to drink the contents of his wineglass in one go.

He puts the empty glass down, reaching for the small carafe the server brought with her, and catches Garrett's gaze. He winces.

"I don't usually drink like that," Fenris says, pouring the rest of the wine from the carafe into his glass. "I'm... not very good at this sort of thing. In fact, I don't believe I've _done_ this sort of thing. Ever."

_What sort of thing? Drinking? Dating? Talking?_

"It's okay," Garrett says, gently clinking his beer stein against Fenris's glass. "I'm just glad you're here."

Fenris looks at him for a long moment, that now familiar deer-in-the-headlights look on his face that always seems to follow close on the heels of a compliment, and proceeds to drain his glass again. 

"So how did Isabela get a hold of you anyway?" Garrett asks, as Fenris blinks a few times and casts the empty carafe at his elbow a slightly mournful look. "Did she steal my phone? She just told me she'd set me up with a-"

_He looks like he's going to run again, do NOT say date!_

"-friend," Garrett finishes lamely. "Like a... thing. With drinks."

Fenris seems to recover enough to raise an eyebrow at Garrett, then says, "She staked out the café."

"Of course she did. I'm so fucking sorry."

"It was a little unsettling, but... I thought she might have come to express anger on your behalf, which I would have understood."

"You didn't do anything wrong," Garrett says insistently.

Fenris frowns, and shakes his head. "I did, though. And I'm... sorry. I didn't mean to-" Fenris grimaces. "I was... at the very least, leaving like that was childish. And I- I didn't want to... I'm afraid I might have hurt you."

It's an awful mix of awkward, adorable, and utterly heart-melting, watching Fenris stumble through his words through gritted teeth and with desperate glances at his empty wine glass as if hoping it might magically refill itself, Harry Potter-style. At this point Garrett wouldn't care if Fenris set his entire collection of _Inquisition_  books on fire and gave all his flannel shirts to Isabela to destroy - he just wants Fenris to stop apologizing and stop being so sad and uncertain. 

There are ways of expressing this, Garrett is sure, that are eloquent and appropriate and comforting. 

What Garrett says aloud, however, is, "I've had much worse first kisses."

_Fucking smooth, asshole._

There's sort of a breathless, tense moment as Garrett reaches for his drink as nonchalantly as he can and waits for Fenris to react.

In reaching for his beer, he knocks his water glass, but manages to catch it before it topples completely. He does this while still staring a little too intently at Fenris's face. The part of him that isn't currently screaming in blind panic is impressed by his own reflexes. 

(It's a very small part of him, the part that isn't screaming.)

Fenris stares back at him, then slowly - very slowly - smiles. Just a little. 

_Thank God._

"I'm intrigued," Fenris says, some of that awkward tension in his shoulders and expression relaxing a little. 

"Someone set me on fire, once, during a first kiss," Garrett says. Fenris's smile grows. 

"On purpose?"

"Never did find out. It was our high school's Hell Night, and we'd just finished burning our grad year into the school field..." 

By the time Garrett finishes the explaining how Marian had spilled lighter fluid all over his shirt, and the girl who stumbled into his arms to kiss him was smoking a lit cigarette at the time, Fenris has another half-empty carafe of wine before him, Garrett is nursing his second beer, and there's a plate of nachos coming for them. Fenris looks far more relaxed, and Garrett is trying very, very hard not to get his hopes up for a second kiss.

(Or a third, or fourth, or having Fenris back home and bundled up in his arms and possibly doing more than just kissing-)

"I'll keep in mind that you're very flammable," Fenris is saying with that little smirk that Garrett wants to press his lips to _very fucking badly._

"Only when doused in lighter fluid, which doesn't happen too often in one's lifetime, I don't think," Garrett says. "I'm probably good for another ten years, probability-wise."

Fenris laughs a little, and Garrett's heart does a little skip at the sound. He also realizes that he's spent the last fifteen minutes talking about himself.

In fact, he's spent most of their interactions talking about... himself. 

_Wow._

"I talk a lot," Garrett says a little apologetically, taking a sip of his beer. "As everything I say is both fascinating and informative, it's for the betterment of humanity that I do so."

"Naturally," Fenris says, grinning. "I don't mind."

"It just occurs to me that I don't really know anything about you," Garrett says. "I mean, I know what you're like as a person, I think. Kind of. You're awesome. I say that too much. Anyway. But I don't know like... I don't know, where you come from? What you do? What you _like_  doing? What-" 

Garrett is about to say, "what your life story is," but Bull's warning from weeks ago echoes in his mind. 

" _He looks like someone who's been through some shit._ "

So maybe asking for the dark and tragic backstory when he's trying very hard to not make Fenris run away again isn't the best course of action.

"-your hobbies are," Garrett says instead. "And it's probably because I talk a lot, which I'm doing right now. I'll shush."

Fenris still looks amused, but his eyes are a little guarded, and Garrett knows he's treading across very, very thin ice. 

"I like that you talk," Fenris says quietly. "As you said, everything you say is both fascinating and informative. For instance, I now know that it's dangerous to bring a lit cigarette near someone covered in lighter fluid."

"It's definitely not an intuitive reach of logic," Garrett says solemnly. 

"Exactly. I, um..." Fenris looks away, lips pressed tightly together. Garrett waits.

A few long moments pass, then Fenris huffs out a breath, and meets Garrett's eyes again. 

"There are... things about me that you're better off not knowing," Fenris says carefully. "Many, many things. And because of that it would be hard, I imagine, to become close. With me. I'm not used to having a friend, or friends, never mind-" 

Fenris winces, and reaches for his wine, taking a very long sip before speaking again. 

"I have a past that I'm trying very hard to _keep_ in the past," Fenris says. He smiles a little. "You're very good at making that past seem a little further away. But it is there still. My natural inclination would be to make sure that no one knows anything of that past. However, I have been encouraged to... expand my social circles."

Garrett is listening as intently as he can, digesting Fenris's words. 

That last sentence, though. He blinks a little, and wonders if "expanding social circles" means dating. He hopes it does, but-

Fenris seems to notice Garrett's bemusement, and clarifies, "My one friend told me I need to get out more."

"Oh."

"Given all this..." Fenris looks at his tattooed hands, not at Garrett, and says, "It occurred to me that you likely have many better options for closeness. And that I do not know if I can give you what you're looking for. It wouldn't be fair. I just... want to be certain that you know I left that night not for lack of interest. It wasn't you, it was-"

Fenris stops short, and groans, putting his face in his hands.

"Were you about to say "it's not you, it's me?"" Garrett asks, fascinated. "For real? In real life?"

"It sounded much less cliché in my head," Fenris says from behind his fingers, sounding mortified. 

A server carrying a plate of nachos appears, glances at the two of them - Garrett snickering, Fenris still hiding behind his hands - and places the nachos on the table. "Is there anything else I can get you, or-?"

"No thanks," says Garrett, as Fenris mutters, "The sweet release of death."

The server looks as though she's about to say something, then thinks better of it, backing away slowly and disappearing back into the throng of the pub.

"Fen, I don't need to know anything you don't want me to know," Garrett says softly, trying to coax Fenris out from behind his palms. "If all I know of you is the "right now," that's okay. I'd really, really like to know your "what comes next," but if that's not something you want, that's okay too. If all you want is to be friends, I'm just happy we get to hang out."

Fenris drops his hands slowly as Garrett talks, his eyes fixed on the table. Quietly he says, "I don't want to be just friends, Hawke."

Garrett manages to fight his instinctual response - jumping to his feet and whooping in absolute fucking glee and triumph as if Fenris just said "yes" to a marriage proposal, and maybe hugging a bartender or two just because. He doesn't do that. But it's impossible to keep from smiling. 

Really broadly. He might break his face. He hopes Fenris still wants to be not just friends even if he breaks his face.

"I would need time," Fenris says, looking up. He seems a little startled by Garrett's beaming grin, but his solemn expression seems to soften a little at the sight of it, and Garrett takes that as a very good sign. "And... I cannot guarantee that I won't- well, essentially, be an enormous coward about things. As I said before, I've never done this before."

"Time is good," Garrett says, nodding, and trying not to look too eager. Or stupidly and ridiculously in love. He tries for gentle, casual affection. "Slow, time- it's okay. It's good. It's more than good. You're more than good. I'm going to eat a nacho, the nachos here are just fantastic."

That eyebrow is going again, as Fenris watches him grab a nacho without looking and shove most of it into his mouth, not realizing until it is far, far too late that the chip is cradling an enormous slice of jalapeño. 

"Are you going to be alright?" Fenris asks mildly, moments later, once Garrett has ridden out the worst of the burn and is now trying to stomach the nearly-full pint of beer he just chugged in a panic. 

"Probably not," Garrett rasps, dying a little. "Okay, I thought of a thing. If you're down for it."

Fenris takes a chip, also bearing a large amount of jalapeño, and crunches into it, his expression unchanging. "Mm?"

"What if I ask you questions, and if you want to answer you can, and if you don't, just say "pass,"" Garrett says. "Would that make things... easier, I guess? If you say pass, I drop it completely and move on."

Fenris tilts his head, and to Garrett's relief, the Sexy Eyebrow of Judgment stays put. "I... suppose it would. Alright."  

"Cool," Garrett says, and there's genuine excitement overtaking the pain and anguish of the last thirty seconds. He can almost forget the searing heat still scorching his tongue. "Okay, so... oh, here's a basic one. Last name?"

For a moment Fenris hesitates, then he says, "Awan." 

_Fenris Awan._ Garrett likes it. He likes it an awful lot.

He also notes that if in future they decide to hyphenate things, "Hawke-Awan" sounds like an amazing dance move, or a Jedi Master, or a Pokémon. This appeals to him greatly.

"I like it," is all he says aloud. "Uh, I know it's kind of an awkward question, but... how old are you, anyway?"

Fenris ducks his head, looking suddenly anxious. "I turn eighteen in December."

Garrett's world comes to a screeching halt for a full five seconds, which is about as long as Fenris is able to keep up the act before he breaks into (quite frankly, adorable) little snickers.

"You complete ass," Garrett says, a hand on his chest, and his heart is honest to fuck racing and _not_  in a good way. "Jesus Christ. Holy fuck. You _ass._ "

"It's really very sweet, how gullible you are," Fenris says, still smirking as he takes a quick sip of his wine. He refills his glass from the carafe, and says, "I turn _twenty-seven_ in December."

"Aww," says Garrett, and at Fenris's confused glance, adds, "I turn twenty-eight in July."

"You're practically old enough to be my father, then," Fenris says dryly. "Another."

"Um, are you from Vancouver?"

"No."

"Canada?"

"...No."

Hesitation. Garrett pauses for a moment, then says, "Can I ask... where you're from?"

"Yes."

Garrett blinks. 

Fenris smirks. 

_Ass._

"Okay, where are you from, then?"

"To my knowledge, I was born in Pakistan, in the province of Sindh," Fenris says. "We immigrated to America when I was young."

Which explains Fenris's very slight accent. As nearly everyone in Vancouver is an immigrant or a child of an immigrant, most people Garrett knows has a slight accent. He probably has a slight accent. One that screams " _Cowtown_."

"Does your family still live in the States?"

Fenris looks away. "Pass."

_Okay. Good to know._

"Was English your second language?" Stupid question, really, but Garrett's curious, and ready to admit that he knows shit all about Pakistan.

Fenris shakes his head. "It was my fourth."

Garrett feels his jaw drop, and struggles not to sound as incredibly dumb as he feels as he echoes numbly, " _Fourth?_ "

"Urdu and Sindhi, I think, were my first languages. Probably a little Punjabi, too. English is well-spoken in Pakistan, and I likely would have learned it in school. I think I knew it passably well before coming here."

The way Fenris talks about all this is oddly detached, almost as if he's describing someone else's childhood. It's subtle, but a little strange to hear nonetheless. 

"How many languages do you speak?" Garrett asks, deciding to move on from the potentially dicey questions of Fenris's past. 

Fenris shrugs. "A few. I learned Spanish at some point. A little Italian? The Latin languages are all fairly easy - they're basically the same from one to another."

"And Haitian," Garrett says, remembering their conversation a few weeks ago. 

Fenris nods. 

"What language do you think in?"

Fenris seems a little thrown by the question, but he smiles. "Mostly English. But... most of my dreams are in Urdu or Sindhi, I think."

It's an oddly intimate thing to know about Fenris. The stupidly sentimental, utterly smitten part of Garrett that moves Way Too Fast can only think of Fenris sleeping in his arms, and knowing something of the words and scenes that might be taking place in his head as he dreams. 

Garrett wishes he had something like that he could share with Fenris in return. Some way of letting Fenris in the way Fenris was slowly letting him in. 

Or at least, letting know that Fenris was already in. All the way in. Because Garrett is, as mentioned, stupidly sentimental and utterly smitten.

"I really only speak English," Garrett finds himself saying. "Um, bit of French, like I said. That's about it."

"I figured," Fenris says, shrugging.

Garrett hangs his head a little. "Because I'm white."

"Yeah."

"Fair enough."

They talk through the next hour and a half as the nachos disappear between them, and the conversation eases from direct questions and answers to a more natural flow. Garrett learns that Fenris hates fish, likes apples, does not want to be a barista forever, and is not in university. He watches Game of Thrones, he's never seen Scrubs, and he's never been to Whistler, which is a crime. He's never seen a moose, a beaver, or a caribou, and feels slightly cheated of the Canadian experience for it. He understands the hype about Tim Horton's Iced Capps and Roll Up the Rim, but prefers Starbucks overall. He moved to Vancouver last year, started working at Hightown in January, and has never visited the Aquarium. Or Science World. Or the Planetarium. Or the Art Gallery.

"I haven't really toured the area," Fenris says eventually, cutting off Garrett's "But have you been to Granville Island-?" "But... perhaps you can show me some of these places."

Garrett's already compiling a list of places he plans to take Fenris, and wonders a little anxiously if Fenris's hatred of fish will doom their Aquarium date from the start.  

Garrett is careful with his questions, but he still hits a few walls, which he's happy to move around, though they paint a confusing picture. "When did you move to Canada" is answered with a "pass," as are questions about his "one friend" ("He's a better man than me." "How did you meet?" "Pass."), what he did before working at Hightown, what high school was like in the States, and if Vancouver is the only place in Canada he's lived.

The worst one, oddly, is when Garrett gestures to his tattoos and says, "Those are fucking awesome, by the way. What made you decide to get them? Are the patterns symbolic, or-?"

" _Pass._ "

Garrett looks up from Fenris's tattooed hand to see him paling, his lips pressed tight together, something shuttered and haunted in his expression. 

"I'm sorry-" Garrett says, alarmed, but Fenris shakes his head.

"It's alright. It's just- not a good memory."

Garrett finds himself looking at those beautiful tattoos with fresh eyes, after that, as they cascade down Fenris's throat, along his fingers, disappearing into his shirt to suggest they covered his chest and shoulders too, at the very least. _Not a good memory._

_Fuck, what does that mean?_

It's a little like looking at some kind of flower, or a painting, only to know that the flower is toxic, or that the painting killed the artist through lead poisoning. He makes a note not to comment on them again. 

Fenris likes dogs, thinks cats are evil but appreciates their honesty, and has never met a bearded dragon. He is willing to change that.

Eventually things wind down, and Fenris seems happy to keep talking, but tired. They pay up and move out of the bar, back up to the fence overlooking the harbour as the sun sets on the mountains, the waves painted pink, blue, and gold. They chat a little longer, leaning up against the fence, close enough that Garrett can feel Fenris's warmth in the scarce inches between them.

Close enough that Garrett can imagine putting his arms around Fenris, holding him close. But he doesn't. _Baby steps._

"I should head home," Fenris says eventually, sounding genuinely regretful. "I had... a very good time, Hawke. Thank you. I'll admit I was nervous coming here, but- I'm glad I did. I would thank Isabela but despite not knowing her very well, some part of me seems to not want to give her the satisfaction."

"She has that effect on people," Garrett says, grinning. "I can drive you home, if you like. Where do you live?"

"Up Hastings. Very much up Hastings. And thank you, but it's alright. I should stop by the corner store on the way home to pick up supplies if I'm planning to eat anytime soon."

Garrett can feel the goodbye approaching, and he doesn't want it to. He wants this, their quiet parking lot date in the warm sunset with the sea stretched out towards the mountains before them, the sounds of the city accompanying it all - he wants this to last forever. 

"Tuesday is karaoke night at the Hanged Man," Garrett says. "You should come. It's really easy to get to, or I could pick you up. I mean, you'll have to deal with meeting my friends who will definitely try to drive you off somehow for the sole purpose of ruining my life, and you shouldn't eat the stew there or drink the two-dollar pints unless you're willing and eager to die before your time, but... it would be really great to have you there. Really, really great."

Fenris lifts his brows, his eyes crinkling in a little smile. "Do I _want_  to come to karaoke night at the Hanged Man?"

Garrett grins. "You _absolutely_  want to come to karaoke night at the Hanged Man. You haven't lived until you've heard my friend Varric's incredibly soulful rendition of _The Gambler._ "

"I'll look forward to it," Fenris says, turning to face Garrett directly, looking up at him. Very close.

Garrett swallows, and he's about to ask if he could maybe, if Fenris wouldn't mind if he-

But then Fenris answers without ever having to hear the question, leaning up on his toes, his lips softly brushing Garrett's for a hesitant moment, before pressing firmly against his mouth. His hands are on Garrett's face, fingers sliding around the back of his head, pulling him closer.

Garrett's arms are already around Fenris's slim waist, feeling how much smaller Fenris is under his overlarge sweater, and if all of his mind weren't utterly occupied by this moment, if all of him wasn't completely present for this, Fenris in his arms and kissing him under a goddamn sunset, he would wonder what Fenris would look like in one of his shirts. One of his plaid ones that Isabella keeps threatening to burn.

(Only in one of those plaid shirts, and nothing else. That's a thought for later.)

Unlike last time, there's no sense of urgency in this kiss, far less of that fierce energy that swept them both away under the streetlights of Gastown. They take their time. 

But too soon, Fenris pulls away - not very far, and not out of Garrett's arms. He lowers himself back down, his eyes heavily-lidded, pupils blown.

Garrett feels a slight shiver run through him under that enormous sweater, and holds him a little tighter. "Are you alright?"

Fenris nods, and leans forward to rest his forehead against Garrett's chest, closing his eyes. Just for a moment. "Thank you."

"For what?"

Fenris looks up, and smiles. "Just... thank you."

He leans up again for one more kiss, little more than a quick brush against Garrett's lips, and then he's stepping away. It's still hard to watch him go, but it's far easier knowing that he's not running away. That this isn't over.

It's the opposite of over, actually. 

Garrett goes to his car, slides into his front seat, and waits until Fenris is out of the parking lot. 

Then he lets out a loud whoop, punching the air, and allowing himself a few seconds of stupid dancing to celebrate before hooking up his iPod and blasting 90s pop music all the way home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry I haven't updated in weeks. It's been crazy. This job is crazy. I love it but we're in Hell Week and the show opens on Tuesday and I still don't know how to play the Pink Panther theme which I should be practising instead of doing this but what can you do. I miss you guys, I miss these guys, and I want to get to karaoke.
> 
> Holy crap. Zoned out for a moment there. Still need to shower. I'm probably going to die.
> 
> SOME SHIT YO:
> 
> \- Desi!Fen is love, Desi!Fen is life. I made a post on Tumblr recently that actually did pretty well explaining why I think Fenris is Desi-coded. I spent about an hour tonight doing some research to try to fit his location and languages in a way that makes sense. Just. Desi!Fen okay that's all. 
> 
> \- I can't remember if I actually said any shit about Steamworks in the last chapter in the notes. Get out at Waterfront Station on the Skytrain, walk out through the main exit, go left. It's like, right there. And delicious. The beer is really good as is their lobster ravioli. Like holy crap yo.
> 
> \- Hell Night is probably a thing that happens at a lot of high schools but in case y'all don't do this shit, it's the night before you go back to school in Grade Twelve. It's tradition to burn your grad year into the grass field. I was not at my Hell Night, I was in Whistler, getting texts such as "C**** just set himself on fire by accident" and "J*** probably needs stitches because she was hammered and tried climbing a goal post and slipped." It was fun for the WHOLE FAMILY.
> 
> \- If you're not Canadian or have not been to Canada you might not know the delicious amazing goodness that is an iced capp. Think frappucino but creamier and more ice-creamish. Comes in a bunch of different flavours. Pay a little extra for the supreme so you can get Cool Whip on top. 
> 
> \- Roll up the Rim. ROLL UP THE RIM. RRRRRROLL UP THE RRRRRRIM TO WINNN!!!!!
> 
> \- You roll up the rim of your coffee cup. You win free coffee a lot. You forget to bring your cup in. You never win the car. You don't even really want the car. You want free coffee. #TimHortonsGothic
> 
> \- What the fuck is with small towns yo. What the fuck. I am the only city person here and I grew up in the suburbs it is so relentlessly bizarre NO ONE LOCKS THEIR DOORS NOT EVEN THEIR CAR DOORS EVERYONE KNOWS EACH OTHER. ONE OF OUR CAST MEMBER'S CARS WAS BROKEN INTO. NOT BY A THIEF OR VANDAL. BY A BEAR. BY A FUCKING BEAR!!! There's one Starbucks in a Safeway and there is, I am not kidding I am one hundred percent being serious, a hermit who lives in a shack he built on the mountain outside town who is some kind of physicist and talks to rocks. He just kind of wanders in and everyone's like "oh hey George." My boss told me that he's so smart, he's probably talking to rocks for reasons we're not enlightened enough to understand. 
> 
> \- Also everyone knows what I do because they know everyone in town and they know if they see an outsider around this time of year it's probably because I work for this theatre company. One lady started asking me questions about it through a stall door while I was on the toilet. I don't understand.
> 
> \- NO ONE SPEEDS UP TO MERGE THEY STOP AND WAIT FOR PEOPLE TO GO WHAT IS THIS
> 
> \- I'm going insane people it's lovely here and I love my job but holy shit yo. Holy shit.


	11. A Nineties Amount of Denim

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have to be up in six hours but THIS WAS IMPORTANT. It's karaoke time, y'all.

**From: M!Hawke**  
can I marry ur gf

 **To: M!Hawke**  
If it's so you can cash in on her life insurance after murdering her, don't bother. Apparently insurance companies don't like your chances if you have a history of multi-billion dollar corporations sending hitmen after you.

 **From: M!Hawke**  
purely emotional reasons!!! not even wanting to bang her I just love her a lot right now!!

 **To: M!Hawke**  
As relieved as I am to know that you don't want to bang my super hot girlfriend I'm also really fucking curious as to how we went from "your girlfriend is planning something sinister and I'm afraid" to "whose last name am I gonna take."

 **From: M!Hawke**  
if u say "hawke-awan" out loud it sounds like a pokémon

 **To: M!Hawke**  
...

 

 **To: The Bae**  
Why does my brother want to platonically marry you.

 **From: The Bae**  
oh good! I was hoping it went well.

 **To: The Bae**  
Oh my God did you all sign a pact to be incredibly vague and uninformative?

 **From: The Bae**  
you say that like we're ever precise and informative

 **To: The Bae**  
Fair.

 **From: The Bae**  
I tracked down that boy he likes and set them up

 **To: The Bae**  
Holy shit.

 **From: The Bae**  
I didn't tell him at first because tbh I wasn't sure barista boy was going to show. seriously why does gare always fall for the emotionally complicated ones

 **To: The Bae**  
Are you feeling okay?

 **From: The Bae**  
should I be feeling anything less than okay?

 **To: The Bae**  
You did something nice. I'm worried.

 **From: The Bae**  
I've been known to show a certain softness from time to time. keeps everyone on their toes.

 **To: The Bae**  
Still... thank you. I love you.

 **From: The Bae**  
( . )( . )

 **From: The Bae**  
I would have sent an actual picture of them but you're at work so

 **To: The Bae**  
<3

-

Everyone passes Garrett's tutorial class, both because they deserve it and because Garrett can't help but see the best in everything and everyone right now. Even in a paper that compared Kashoun Takami to E.L. James in a way that was both baffling and in parts downright disturbing. Garrett shrugged, checked the list of sources and was shocked by their legitimacy, and gave the student a respectable 67% while fighting the urge to attach a link to the school's 24-hour helpline for the troubled and distressed. He was in too fucking good a mood for anything else, and still is. 

Fenris texted him first after their date, just a picture of a man in a full-body green spandex suit getting groceries with the caption "what the fuck," and Garrett felt his facial muscles actually start to cramp from how hard he was smiling. 

 

**To: Fen**

I guess the green men are coming out of retirement

**From: Fen**

Is there any universe in which that sentence makes sense.

**To: Fen**

welcome to vancouver enjoy ur stay

 

Since then they've stayed in moderate communication that mostly consists of Garrett sending Fen pictures of Archie, Ser Pounce, and Haunt, and Fen's reactions to each ("Your lizard is extremely fat, Hawke" "I don't trust how that cat is smiling at the camera" "I feel as though I might make friends with Haunt, he seems very comfortable with his villainy.") And tonight, Garrett gets to see him again. In person.

More than that, he gets to share this experience with his friends, who have ranged from surprisingly supportive (Isabela) to unsettlingly caustic (Anders). 

"I'm happy you're happy, Gare, you know when you're happy I'm happy," Anders is saying as they cross the parking lot from the bus stop to the Hanged Man, the scent of old weed, stale beer, and wildflowers springing up from cracks in the pavement filling Garrett with a sense of familiarity and comfort as they go. As no one is wanting to play designated driver tonight, most are showing up to the bar by means of Transit or, in Varric's case (given that he actually has money), taxi. No one in their group is allowed to use Uber since Anders' two-hour long speech on how the app is owned by The Literal Devil Incarnate, which Garrett realizes he hasn't yet warned Fenris about. _Shit._  "But I was just kind of hoping that you'd find someone _nice_  after Seb, you know? Someone who won't fuck around with you."

"He's not! Fucking around with me, that is. Not yet, anyway." He winks at Andy, who promptly mimes gagging. "And he likes Haunt. That alone should make you like him."

"He doesn't _know_ Haunt, Gare. He only likes him for his looks. Seems kind of shallow to me." 

"He knows Haunt is evil and still likes him."

"And that makes him good and nice _how?_ "

"You're being very Anders right now."

"I _am_  Anders."

"Nah, you're _Andy._  Andy is fun to party with and does some downright illegal things with his tongue when he's in the mood. _Anders_ gets arrested for protested Monsanto at May Day parades."

" _They shouldn't have a float with smiling bees on it when they are pure evil._  And I didn't get arrested." 

"But you wanted to. You have a problem, Andy. I'm sure there are many nice people out there who would enjoy putting you in handcuffs without it going on your permanent record."

"Motherfucking-"

"Boys."

Anders and Garrett look up to see that they've arrived at the doors of the Hanged Man, and the bouncer checking ID's seems less than impressed with their bickering.

"Sorry, Razzy," Garrett says, pulling out his wallet. "Andy's being cantankerous tonight."

Maraas - "Razzy" - eyes Anders a little suspiciously. "Am I gonna have to kick you out again?"

Anders folds his arms with a scowl. "Depends on if you're still pushing Nestlé products and contributing to the violation of international marketing codes meant to protect children in third world countries who-"

Garrett gently, but firmly, seals his palm over Anders' mouth and says, "No, you won't. I promise. _Don't lick me._  Not you, Razzy."

Razzy does not seem convinced, but takes Garrett and a sulking Anders' IDs regardless, giving them a cursory once-over before handing them back. "If that little brother of yours is coming, tell him that he is under _no circumstances_  to try to karaoke Tupac. He's got plenty of Macklemore and Eminem to choose from without me being obliged to beat his little white ass. Got it?"

"You're a good man, Razzy," Garrett says. "Too precious for this world. Too pure."

"Kiss-ass."

Garrett bows a little and shoves Anders towards the doors. "Find us a good table. I'm gonna wait out here for Fen."

"You're not very supportive of my passions, Garrett," Anders grumbles, setting off through the doors regardless. "It's hurtful."

"I'll make it up to you in an unspecified way at some point in both our lifetimes," Garrett says. Andy flips him off just as the doors close behind him.

He stands guard with Razzy as a few more of his friends trickle in - Varric, arriving in style and with a smirk on his face that does not bode well for Garrett at all, Aveline with her long red hair tied hard back in a french braid, looking exhausted but glad to see Garrett, and eventually Carver with-

"Mr Garrett!"

Merrill. 

"Hey kid," Garrett says, his grin widening as Merrill gives him a tight hug, Carver looking decidedly sour behind her. "How did Carver manage to convince you to come out this way?"

"I had to convince _him_ , believe it or not," Merrill giggles, stepping back. "He said you were all doing karaoke tonight and that he wasn't going to go, but I _love_  karaoke, and he changed his mind. And I get to see all of you now! I heard Marian's coming as well? Oh, hello, sir! I'm Merrill."

Razzy blinks, and says, "This is a 19+ establishment, miss."

"Oh I do hope so, I don't think children should be allowed in bars myself," Merrill says, reaching into her purse. "The pubs back home are one thing, they're more like family restaurants than anything else, but it's different here, isn't it? Passport and credit card alright?"

Razzy accepts the ID offered to him, blinks again, and hands it back. "Good God."

"I know, people keep thinking I'm twelve, it's really very annoying," Merrill says. "Carver, you haven't said hello to your brother yet! Cat got your tongue?"

"'Sup," says Carver, deadpan. 

"Hey," says Garrett, grinning. "Nice to see you bringing a date."

"What?" says Merrill blankly, looking up. 

" _Can I talk to you for a second_ ," says Carver, his face turning impressively crimson at an astonishing speed.

"Why don't you head on inside, miss," Razzy says to Merrill. "Look for a skinny blond guy with a ponytail torturing the servers for serving him chicken wings that aren't free range, or whatever the fuck he's yelling about now."

"Angry protestor with hipster hair, got it," Merrill says with a little salute, disappearing into the pub.

Carver grabs Garrett by the arm and hauls him to the side, his posture, expression, and tone really visually defining the word "seething" for Garrett in an extremely visceral way. " _This isn't a date._ "

"You haven't asked her out yet?" Garrett says, feeling Carver's fingers bruise little indents into his biceps and once again feeling physically inferior to his little brother, damn it. "Don't try to kick my ass, by the way, Razzy likes me better."

"I'm the direct opposite of getting involved in your shit," Razzy says, scrolling through his phone. "But it's true."

"She and I aren't really there yet and if I'm going to be _working_  with her this summer I don't want to make her _uncomfortable,_ " Carver grits out. "I want to watch out for her and I can't do that if _you_  fuck it all up by being an unbelievable douchecanoe."

"Hold on," Garrett says, folding his arms. "You're saying that it's really more important to you that you keep her safe this summer, than if she ever goes out with you?"

Carver grinds his teeth and says nothing, but his expression speaks volumes. Garrett whistles.

"I'm impressed."

"Shove it, Garrett."

"No, really. Honestly Carver, I'll lay off, I promise. On one condition."

"It's either you lay off or I break your nose, you know that, right?"

"Condition is, you ask her out at the end of the summer. No excuses."

Carver works his jaw a few times, eyes narrowed, then says, "Fine."

"Good talk." Garrett pats Carver on the shoulder, smiling. "Go get her, tiger."

"I hate you."

"Love you too."

Isabela is next to show up, and Garrett greets her the same way he has every day since his date with Fenris - by hoisting her up around the middle into an enormous bear hug and spinning her around a few times to show his appreciation and affection for her existence. 

"I'm really enjoying this appreciation and affection for my existence, Gare-Bear, but if you do that later tonight after I've had a few drinks I _will_  vomit on you," Isabela says, stepping away to lean up on her toes and kiss Razzy on the cheek. "How's my favourite bouncer?"

"Keeping a very close eye on the lady who keeps running off with our cutlery," Razzy says. "How's the kleptomania treating you?"

"We all have our hobbies, darling. Who's all here?"

"Anders, Varric, and Aveline - she looks like she's had a rough day, so be nice. Oh, Carver and Merrill are here too, but it's _not_  a date and I've promised not to embarrass him."

"Well, I've made no such vows, so I fully intend to have my fun with this. See you inside."

Minutes later, a bus pulls up, and Garrett's heart flips as a familiar slight figure with white hair shoved under a black beanie and swimming in an overlarge sweater gets off, hand shoved deep in his pockets. 

"You're gonna wanna adjust your face," Razzy says quietly, not looking up from his phone.

Garrett touches his cheeks - lifted worryingly high from smiling - and says, "Too eager?"

"Mhm."

He adjusts, and then Fenris is there, waving a little shyly and smiling. 

"You didn't have to wait outside," Fenris says, handing his ID to Razzy. "But thank you."

"I was worried you might get lost during the two-second walk from the bus stop to the front door," Garrett says, and Fenris laughs. "Isabela's here, as is my little brother and my future sister-in-law, but they're not on a date so we're trying to make it not awkward for them."

"Unlikely, given that you just said Isabela is in there with them," Fenris says dryly, taking his ID back from Razzy. "Shall we?"

The Hanged Man is low-ceilinged and deeply grungy, designed in the aesthetic of a medieval inn if said inn were built on the very, _very_  wrong side of town. Garrett loves it, from the mismatched lighting cast by rusty-looking fake candelabras hanging from the ceiling, to the slightly sticky and uneven wood flooring. He even has a passing fondness for the middle-aged construction worker with cement caked into his clothes performing a warbly rendition of Simon and Garfunkel's "The Boxer" on the karaoke stage right now, as his friends laugh and throw balled-up napkins at him from a table nearby. It all feels like home. 

Aveline is already halfway through a pint, watching in mixed exasperation and amusement as Anders rants at the waitress, Norah, about... something, Garrett isn't entirely sure, but he keeps hearing the words "corruption," "bureaucracy," "the youth," and inexplicably, "quinoa fetish," so he decides quickly that he doesn't want to know. Varric, predictably, is smirking as he writes little notes in the moleskine journal he has on him at all times, and waves as Garrett and Fenris approach. 

"He's smaller than I thought he'd be," Varric says, nodding to Fenris.

Fenris stops short at this, eyes narrowing as he looks Varric up and down. "Quite a statement coming from a man in your position."

Anders breaks off halfway through the sentence "gluten-free privilege" to gape at Fenris. "Did you _actually_ just-?"

"He's about to call you ableist for pointing out that I'm a dwarf. Calm down, Blondie, I'm quite unoffended." Varric holds out a hand with a grin. "Varric Tethras. I think I'm gonna like you, even if you do look like you just got back from Warped Tour and shop exclusively at Hot Topic."

Fenris smirks, and shakes Varric's hand. "Fenris. Isn't having a notebook just to be absolutely certain that _everyone_ in the room knows you're a writer a little over the edge of trying too hard?"

"You wouldn't make fun if you knew how often this has gotten me laid," Varric says. "Do you know what you're drinking? Otherwise Norah's gonna run while she can before getting caught up in Blondie's soapboxing again and we won't see her for a while."

Norah, who nearly managed to sidle away from the table unnoticed, steps back into place with a scowl. 

"The house red, whatever it is," Fenris says, taking a seat. "Thank you."

Garrett, still trying to recover from Fenris and Varric's little battle of wits, clears his throat and says, "Rickard's Blonde, thanks Norah. Where's everyone else?"

"Carver and Merrill are up at the bar chatting with a school friend," Aveline says, nodding. "Isabela is trying to get a free pitcher out of Corff apparently, and I don't want to know the details. Fenris, I'm Aveline. Very nice to meet you."

Fenris nods, and raises an eyebrow at Anders, who's still scowling. "I can only assume your name isn't Blondie."

"Andy," Anders says shortly. 

"Pleased to make your acquaintance," says Fenris coolly. 

Anders narrows his eyes, picks up his light ale, and takes a long sip in a manner that can really only be described as a hearty attempt at "menacing."

"So," says Garrett, forcing a broad smile. "Folks. Friends! How's everyone's day going?"

"An angry teenager spat in my face today as I arrested him for attempting to sell ecstasy to an eleven-year old," Aveline says wearily.

"A patient spat in my face as I helped an intern strap him down so he didn't chew his stitches out with his teeth," Anders says, still glaring at Fenris over his beer.

"I made a lot of money doing very little," Varric says.

Fenris says nothing, only narrows his eyes at Anders a little, clearly unimpressed by what he sees.

"Well, glad to hear that everyone had a... day," Garrett says.

Aveline drinks, Varric snorts, Anders glares, and Fenris folds his arms, leaning into Garrett's side a little. Garrett slips his arm around Fenris's waist without thinking and freezes, because _shit_ , maybe that's going a little too far for a second date and a first meeting of the... family? Clique? Squad? _Whatever the kids call it these days._

Fenris doesn't seem to mind. In fact, his lips curl into a little smile, and he moves a little closer.

It's a sort of sharp smile, though. Very similar to a look Haunt gets on his little kitty face when he's torturing Pounce or Kitty. And Fenris is still staring at Anders, who's settled into a thunderous glower. 

Everyone jumps as two pitchers are slammed down onto the table, courtesy of Isabela, who greets them all with a wink. 

"Don't ask how I got these, just know that they're free," Isabela says, taking a seat next to Garrett. "Met Carver's girlfriend by the way. _Very_  sweet girl. She deals quite well with the enormous pine tree lodged up your brother's ass."

"Did you say anything about them being together?" Garrett asks.

"I don't believe so? Well, I did ask him to introduce me to his lady friend. Oh, and then I told her to run while she still could. But no, I didn't imply they were together, I don't think."

"I'm sure he appreciated it," says Garrett, reaching for a pitcher and suddenly very, _very_  thirsty.

-

**From: The Bae**

are you almost here? you're missing so much unintentional hilarity, it's wonderful.

**To: The Bae**

I'm about five minutes out. How's Garrett holding up? Everything okay with the barista?

**From: The Bae**

I think darling fenris is under the impression that andy is in love with garrett and he's getting somewhat territorial and your brother is absolutely clueless

**To: The Bae**

...What gave him that impression.

**To: The Bae**

I mean Andy loves Garrett and Garrett loves Andy and sure they've banged and I did wonder if they were going to run off together and start a cat shelter in, fuck knows, Newfoundland or something for a while.

**To: The Bae**

.....Wait hold on Andy isn't in love with Garrett right.

**From: The Bae**

no, andy's heart belongs both to the millennial revolution and an extremely attractive doctor at the hospital who has sort of a major "dilf" vibe

**From: The Bae**

mmm

**To: The Bae**

Wait what??? What DILF??? What???

**From: The Bae**

get him drunk on peach schnapps some time and ask about a man named karl if you want to hear a long, tragic, and kind of boring story about a medical student who fell in love during an internship with a man who loved him back but ended up choosing his career over their love and moved away but by some crazy twist of fate they work at the same hospital now and whoops, oh dear, I appear to have told the whole story. it's not important what's important is that he and barista boy look ready to strangle each other and my money's on the scene kid. he looks like a scrapper.

**To: The Bae**

Is there any way you can stall all potential fistfights until I arrive?

**From: The Bae**

no promises. oh, your little brother and his girlfriend say hi by the way!

**To: The Bae**

He finally asked her out?

**From: The Bae**

nope. see you soon <3

**To: The Bae**

....That can't be good.

-

Marian isn't sure what to expect when she rounds the corner to their usual table at the Hanged Man, but it's far better than what Isabela's slightly ominous texts seemed to suggest.

How they manage to fit everyone around their usual table is a weekly miracle, but they've done it again, and things look promising. Varric is clearly quite taken with Merrill, who is speaking very animatedly and with much gusto about her life in Wales, judging by the number of sentences starting with "and then my Nain said." She's splitting a basket of yam fries with Carver, which is adorable, and who is similarly hanging on her every word, with far less of the author's intrigue that Varric is sporting and far more of the look of a man who is thoroughly and utterly smitten. Isabella seems to be tormenting Aveline and Anders simultaneously, which is nothing short of impressive, while Anders casts the occasional dark look across the table at a small, heavily-tattooed hipster with white hair currently nestled against Garrett's side.

_The barista._

Marian opens her mouth to say something, just to let everyone know that she's arrived, when she's suddenly tackled into a hug by-

"Bethy?" 

Bethany steps back with a grin, looking jubilant. "I heard you were coming out tonight, so I managed to get off work early. I feel like I haven't seen you in _forever._ "

"No one has, sweetheart," Isabela says, patting the empty chair next to hers with a smile. "We were all starting to wonder if Garrett's twin wasn't just a mass hallucination."

"Work's been fucking nuts," Marian shrugs, taking a moment to ruffle Bethany's hair before circling around to sit at Isabela's side, greeting her with a quick kiss. "We're in the preliminary rounds of casting, and Alaine's got some kind of chip on her shoulder about it that she hasn't exactly shared with the class, so we're all trying to guess what's been pissing her off. She's not taking it out on any of us but it's definitely not helping with stress levels. Anyway. Is that beer up for grabs?"

Isabela grabs a glass and pours Marian a healthy amount out of the pitcher, as Garrett gestures to Marian and says, "Fen, this is my literal other half. Not in an incest way. In a science way."

"Thank you for the clarification," the man at Garrett's side says quietly, and sweet Jesus Murphy, Marian was not expecting that gravelly voice from so slight and elfin a human. To Marian, he says, "I'm Fen."

"Marian."

"I was gonna let it slide, then I realized I always let it slide," Anders says, leaning in. "Garrett, Marian, you two are fraternal twins. There was no splitting of any embryos. That's not how it works."

"Maybe in the limited world of science and facts," Garrett says grandly, punctuating his words with a wave of a chicken wing. "But have they any place in a discussion of the intense, lifelong, spiritual bond between siblings?"

"Yes," says Anders. 

"You must be fun at parties," Fenris murmurs quietly. Anders looks utterly affronted.

"Your little sister ruined all the fun when she showed up," Isabela whispers to Marian. "I was sure those two were going to start _really_ getting into it, but you know how Bethy has a habit taking all the tension out of a room by being so damned sweet."

"She has a gift," Marian murmurs back.

"She's a spoilsport, is what she is. I wanted to watch a fight. Don't you think barista boy's got the look of someone who could probably knock a man out cold without breaking a sweat? It would have been _amazing_."

 _He does have that look,_  Marian thinks, taking in the grim set of his lips, the stern angle of his brows, the dark circles under his eyes. _Big and green. Pretty, just how Garrett likes them. Oh, brother._

"I'll have her make it up to you in an unspecified way at some point in both our lifetimes," Marian mutters to Isabela. Louder, she says, "Has anyone gone up for karaoke yet?"

"Varric brought the house down about twenty minutes ago with his usual," Garrett says.

"Your brother cried," Fenris says solemnly, and Marian snorts.

"He always does that."

"It's "The Gambler!"" Garrett says, waving his chicken wing around again for emphasis. "Who doesn't cry during "The Gambler?""

"Literally anyone who isn't you," Carver says, draining his glass and reaching for a near-empty pitcher of beer at his end of the table. 

"Don't listen to them Waffles, I like to know when I've touched my audience in a real and genuine way," Varric says with a slight nod. "I saw Sunshine go up a while ago to make a request, so I'm guessing we'll be hearing her dulcet tones shortly"

"Actually, I didn't do it for me," Bethany says, grinning. _Uh oh._  "Seeing as we're all together, and Marian's here, I signed us up for something special."

Marian blinks, locks eyes with Garrett, and gets it. Together they both groan.

"You _didn't_ ," Marian says, casting her little sister an incredibly pained look and receinving only sunny smiles in return. "Bethy, come _on._ "

" _Ha!_ " says Carver, catching on. "You put them down for that stupid nineties song, didn't you?"

"It's not stupid, it's nostalgia _,_  and it's been _ages,_ " says Bethany, sounding utterly unrepentant. "Besides, we've got some new faces here who haven't seen it yet."

"Ooh, seen what, then?" says Merrill.

Marian motions to Garrett to explain, who sighs. 

"Riri and I babysat Carver and Marian a lot, and we had to keep them entertained somehow," Garrett says. "And at the time Ri was taking- what, musical theatre?"

"Jazz," says Marian. 

"Some kind of dance. So one night - and bear in mind, we were about ten or eleven when we did this, so it's not at all embarrassing given the context - anyway, we decided to make a musical out of the first YTV Big Fun Party Mix album-"

"The _what?_ " say Merrill and Fenris in unison.

"Canadian kid's channel," Aveline says. "They released several mix tape style albums in the 2000s- God, I haven't thought about that in years."

"Anyway, Marian choreographed everything and we kind of made up a story as we went a long, which believe me, trying to make a musical that has "Omobalasire," "I Want You Back," "Barbie Girl," and the Pokémon theme song in it was really fucking hard."

"Bethany fell in love with this one song-and-dance number from that little experiment, and made us do it about a million times over the course of our babysitting career," Marian says. "And now she likes to make us do it in public to torture us."

"It's for _nostalgia_ ," Bethany says. "And you two both jump at the opportunity to do it when it comes up, don't act like you don't."

"We don't," say Garrett and Marian. 

"I'm going to need all of this inside of me before doing anything remotely karaoke-like," Marian grumbles, lifting her glass. "Cheers, fuckers."

She doesn't get as much beer in her system as she would like before "the Hawke Twins" are called up to the stage. Garrett and Marian groan again as the rest of the table cast them looks of mingled sympathy, second-hand embarrassment, and in certain cases, a kind of sadistic glee at their impending humiliation. 

"Do we have to do the fake Irish jig?" Marian asks Bethany, getting to her feet.

"There would be no point in me making you two do this if you don't," Bethany says.

Marian looks to Isabela for comfort, only to see her significant other taking out her phone and readying herself to record. _Figures._

"If we do it with confidence, no one can make fun of us," Garrett says, standing and setting off purposefully towards the stage.

"I'm willing to bet you're wrong," Carver shouts after him. 

"I've seen this so many times _I'm_  sure I know all the moves," Aveline says, shaking her head. "My God."

"That's what you get when you grow up with the Hawkes," Marian says, raking her fingers through her hair. "Alright, _fine,_  Bethy, but you owe us."

Bethany claps with a happy little giggle, and Marian stalks off after her brother.

"So, how's this second date of yours going?" Marian asks Garrett quietly once she reaches the stage, already feeling her cheeks burning as a drunk patron at the back of the bar lets out an encouraging whoop.

"He was gonna see this side of me eventually," Garrett says through a slightly forced grin. "Better sooner than later, right?"

"Debatable." 

Garrett looks ready to respond, but then the music starts.

"Fuck," they say together, grab their respective microphones, and start their dance.

Marian likes to pretend she doesn't remember this stupid routine, like she couldn't do it in her sleep. But that would be a lie. And if twenty-seven years of mortifying situations have taught her anything, it's much more embarrassing if you don't commit to your own humiliation. 

So she commits. And so does Garrett. And their beginning do-si-do around one another is as crisp and polished as it was when they first perfected it almost two decades ago.

" _I said hey boy, sittin' in your tree, Mummy always wants you to come for tea_ ," sings Marian, in her best approximation of a bad Irish accent. She hears Bethany cheer from their table, as well as the unmistakable sound of Isabela losing her shit laughing at them.

" _Don't be shy, straighten up your tie,_ " sings Garrett, sliding into place with an artful spin. " _Get down from your tree house sittin' in the sky._ "

" _I wanna know just what to do, is it very big is there room for two?_ "

" _I got a house with the windows and doors, I'll show you mine if you show me yours!_ "

-

Garrett is probably going to die of embarrassment. And if he survives that, he might kill Bethany. But a good part of him is just impressed that he and Marian still _remember_  all of this, from each stupid little jazz square to the harmonies on the choruses. While he'd never try out for any kind of Canadian _American Idol_  knock-off, he's got a decent voice, and so does Marian. They sound good together.

Nineties Irish girl band music notwithstanding.

" _Gotta let me in, hey, hey hey! Let the fun begin, he-e-ey!_ "

Garrett doesn't dare look at Fenris. He doesn't want to know what he must be thinking. But he was honest moments ago when talking to Marian - Fenris was going to find out that he was potentially not-just-friends with someone who willingly humiliates himself to provide others with joy and laughter from time to time.

A lot of the time.

Practically daily. 

" _I'm the wolf today, hey, hey hey! I'll huff, I'll puff, I'll huff, I'll puff, I'll blow you away!_ "

-

Marian knows instinctively that Garrett is avoiding looking at Fenris, so Marian sneaks a quick peek back at their table on his behalf.

Isabela has passed her phone off to Anders, as she's currently laughing too hard to hold anything steady. Bethany is mouthing the lyrics along with them, looking utterly gleeful. Merrill looks like she's witnessing the Second Coming and fuck, right, Marian's technically her boss and Garrett is her teacher, she must be having a fucking field day with this. 

Carver seems caught in an odd mix of secondhand embarrassment, joy at their suffering, and something softer. Nostalgia, maybe. Marian doesn't blame him. Despite the fact that she is a twenty-seven year old woman with a high-stress, high-profile job staring down the gullet of a life-altering decision, she can't help but be transported back by the music to her preteen-self, practicing homemade choreography in the living room with her twin and waiting for her parents to get home so they could show them-

Parents, plural.

Marian quickly shoves that thought aside and focuses her attention on the next move - some kind of dumb pirouette thing that nearly knocks her on her ass. She glances back at their table.

Aveline looks lost in a similar nostalgia, though she, like Isabela, can't seem to stop laughing at them. Varric is scribbling furiously in his notebook.

_Alright, time to face the music._

She looks at Garrett's date.

Predictably, he looks like he's been hit in the face with a giant cast-iron wok, watching them go. _Welcome to the family._

But as Marian watches, that shocked expression starts to relax, and slowly, Fenris starts to smile. 

-

The lapsed Irish jig is always the worst, but there's no denying the celtic flute solo as it kicks into gear, so Garrett does his best. As does Marian. Somehow they both wind up kicking each other in the process, to the delight and well-natured jeers of the crowd. 

Somehow managing not to get utterly tripped up by Marian's frenetic footwork, Garrett improvises a little spin to get him out of the danger zone, landing perfectly in time for the last chorus.

" _Say you will, say you won't, say you'll do what I don't-_ "

Marian stumbles, but Garrett manages to catch his sister and haul her up before she completely bails, catching some cheers from the audience. Grinning, he looks to their table, almost forgetting Fenris is there until he sees him.

Sees him sitting there, and smiling. Laughing a little, even. _Oh, thank God._

" _Say you're true, say to me, wanna say? C'est la vie!_ "

-

There are tears rolling over Isabela's face, Marian sees, as she recovers from her near moment of intimacy with the floor. Tears of laughter, genuine and free. 

" _Say you will, say you won't say you'll do what I don't-_ "

 _She's beautiful,_  Marian thinks.

-

 _He's beautiful,_  Garrett thinks. _Fuck, I hope he doesn't run. I wish he could tell me what he's running from._

-

 _I wish I could tell her that I'm not running from her_ , Marian thinks. _I wish I didn't have to leave._

-

" _Say you're true, say to me: c'est la vie!_ "

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "FoxNonny, where have you been?! It's been ages!" Or, idk, it's not really been that long. It just feels like forever because hO BOY MY LIFE RIGHT NOW.
> 
> I'm doing ten shows a week, two shows a day as well as extra promotional events and interviews and basic craziness for this goddamn musical. Got strep throat a week and a half ago, managed to circumvent the small town health care system that doesn't allow for walk-ins at their clinics by saying "I'm with [X Theatre Company]" because believe me they do not want anything messing with one of their tourism draws. Took antibiotics for the strep that a week later caused me to hive up head-to-toe so I look like an unmasked Deadpool with measles (did I mention I PERFORM FOR A LIVING IN FRONT OF PEOPLE). Still, it's so much less stressful being in the run than being in rehearsal month when I was doing music rewrites pretty much every day after work so there's that. 
> 
> I wanted to make a big long mushy post about how much you all mean to me (a lot) and namedrop some amazing people who deserve it for being wonderful about this and other fics I've written, but it's late and I'm worried I'm going to forget people. Off the top of my head, (Tumblr usernames), TheRealMnemo, LittleOracle, Her-Majestys-Watchdog, GrimSister, FenrisofSeheron, Leliaanaa, JustBooker, SeaSaltSunset, TheShinyGloom, Gothic-Princess-Witch, SaiScribbles, MotherfuckingNazgul, you're all people who have encouraged me and my stories in some way or another, and are such amazing examples of human beings and the kind of amazing people you get to meet in fandom. I'm sure there are people I'm forgetting to throw in here because I have a goldfish brain so if you don't see your name PLEASE don't think that I don't love you x100000 or that your encouragement and support is unnoted or unappreciated. I mean it every time when I say I do this because of everybody's amazing response and deep and unending kindness when it comes to my writing - you honestly make it a joy to do.
> 
> So in short, this chapter and this whole story goes out to the people who leave comments, kudos, or hell even just notch that hit counter up by reading it. When shit is gross in my life I have this to turn to and I can't express how much that means to me.
> 
> *ahem*
> 
> WHAT TIME IS IT KIDS??? CANADIANA TIME!!!
> 
> \- the green men! I think they're pretty well known worldwide, but our hockey team (the Canucks) (yeah I know we suck but we love them anyway) had these mega crazy awesome fans who used to come to games dressed entirely in green spandex suits. they retired last year and life has not been the same without them.
> 
> \- the YTV Big Fun Party Mix is a real thing. I don't think they make them anymore, but if you want a 90s/2000s flashback so intense you'll come out of it with crimped hair and an all-denim suit, listen to Volume I and Volume II. The very last songs are written and sung by the TV personalities who hosted YTV's "The Zone" at the time, and if you ask any Canadian kid from this particular era, they all have their opinions on a) who the best host(s) were and b) the heartbreak they experience when their favourite host left the show (my life was never the same after Jenny was replaced with Sugar (Nuclear Donkey for life amirite)).
> 
> The next chapter is a continuation of this chapter but maybe AFTER that chapter I'm thinking of putting out a music mix for this ridiculous story in 8tracks and downloadable form so if you like free music that's gonna include every single song even vaguely referenced in this fic (yes, including Careless Whisper) then I MIGHT HAVE A MIX FOR YOU.
> 
> Fuck I should sleep.
> 
> As always, I love you all so very, very much, and I really hope you're all enjoying this ridiculousness as much as I'm enjoying writing it.
> 
> EDIT: SHIT I FORGOT TO LINK THE GODDAMN SONG THEY SING IN THIS CHAPTER CHECK IT THE FUCK OUT  
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UvjLgjtJKsc
> 
> ^^if you watch the video you'll see not only what Marian and Garrett's dance looked like (approximately) but where the chapter title came from 
> 
> EDIT EDIT: a million years ago in one of these chapters a commenter informed me about the fraternal twins thing and brother and sister and not the same embryo so THANK YOU TO THAT COMMENTER fuck I should sleep


	12. Troubled Offspring of the Eighties (and the Hawkes Who Love Them)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry for the shortish chapter I hope y'all enjoy it anyway! Hopefully the next one will be longer and more like... plot-movey. I'm very tired.
> 
> Tags on this chapter for smoking in particular, as well as mentions of past drug and alcohol abuse.

Marian flicks the ash off her cigarette as she looks out over the parking lot, frowning. Inside, she can hear Merrill having a turn at the karaoke mic (" _Sanctus Espiritus! Insanity is all around us! Sanctus Espiritus!_ ") and someone cheering her on (probably Bethany). Not too far away, Razzy is back on his phone, and judging by the furious tapping, he's probably trying to win the bar back from Anders (who's just managed to capture it for Team Mystic minutes ago). 

 _Do I even want to leave this?_  

Probably not. Though she's well aware that most people in her position - with a steady, well-paying career and nearing the end of their twenties - probably wouldn't still be living in a rundown house in Kirkwall with most of her siblings and various roommates, it's not just for financial reasons that she does so. 

At work, she's an _Adult_ ; she manages the people under her command, she pulls strings, says the right things, gets the shit done. She looks in a mirror and sees a woman who is "going places" - actual _places_ , not undesignated points on the map to fall off of when things get rough. 

At home... well, at home she goofs off with her twin brother, trades nail polish with Bethany, has dumb pillow fights with her girlfriend and gets drunk listening to Anders' stupid protest music. She takes off the "production manager" like a second skin and puts it aside until she has to pick it up again.

(Well, not entirely aside. Her phone's been ringing almost constantly since she's taken the job, day and night, pinging with e-mails and panicked texts and why the _fuck_  has technology cursed her with so many ways for people to contact her?)

She can imagine, a little, what it might be like to have her own place - an _adult_  place, with possibly a home office and whatever the fuck else an adult apartment has. She can imagine living abroad, making this job her life, being that adult she pretends to be during the day full-time.

_It's going to crack eventually though, won't it?_

Because she's not that adult. She's still an angry, scared kid, doing things as a means to an end. Surviving. Happy to cut and run when things go south. 

She snorts a little and takes another drag of her cigarette. _It'd be a lot easier if I could blame something or someone for making me like this._

Malcolm Hawke's death was a catalyst, certainly, but that burning itch of restlessness was always there, somewhere deep in her chest. It's been quieter lately, easier to ignore. She's been happy.

_Why the fuck would I leave something, somewhere, that makes me happy?_

Movement from the door catches her eye, and she sees a slight figure exit the bar, a shock of white hair revealing the person's identity even as he moves through the shadows.

"Fenris, right?" Marian says, not missing the way he freezes and tenses as she says his name. _Interesting._  "You heading out?"

He turns to her, his eyes lighting on her cigarette. He smiles a little ruefully. "Not exactly."

Marian tilts her head, and he pulls his own pack from his jean pocket. She nods, and squints. "Sweet fuck, those aren't Number Sevens, are they?"

Fenris shrugs, and Marian shudders, holding out her own pack. "Belmont. Um, they've got a pretty heavy filter on them, but I can guarantee they'll be better than what you're smoking."

Fenris looks ready to object, then seems to change his mind, shrugging and stowing his cigarettes and taking one of Marian's. "Thank you."

"No, thank _you_. I'm trying to quit. I've cut it down to a pack a week, so one less cigarette in there is probably a good thing."

Fenris nods, lighting his cigarette with a practiced hand. "To be honest, I haven't smoked in a while. My friend disapproves."

_And yet, you had a pack on you,_  Marian thinks. _Well, if I were in your position and meeting the friends and family for the first time, so would I._

"My little sister hates it, and Lord knows Andy has shown me enough pictures of rotting lungs to last a lifetime," Marian says. At Fenris's scowl, she laughs. "You and he've gotten off to a bit of a rocky start, huh?"

"He is an... interesting individual," Fenris says flatly. 

"No one could argue with you there," Marian says. "He's just very protective. Especially when it comes to Garrett - which, given that he was my friend _first_ , you'd think he'd be like that with _me_. But no, he just offered to give Isabela a free pelvic exam and asked her not to steal any of his expensive medical textbooks, and that was that."

Fenris snorts, but still looks a little sour, so Marian adds, "He's not in love with Garrett by the way."

Fenris chokes a little on his smoke and coughs, looking at Marian with a watery scowl. "I wasn't-" Marian just looks at him, and he sighs. "I- thank you. I am of course now dying to know why he's being... the way he's being."

Marian bites her lip. "Well. Um. Could be a bit early to be bringing up the ex, but... Garrett's last relationship ended pretty badly. In a kind of, " _I know what you're thinking,_   _so please stop explaining, don't tell me cause it hurts_ " kind of way. He has a habit of singing his emotions when he's drunk FYI, you'll figure that out pretty quickly. Possibly tonight. Anyway, it was a bad couple of months for all of us."

Fenris listens to this with a guarded expression, and nods carefully afterwards. "I see."

Marian recognizes the look. Knows a runner when she sees one. 

"I imagine we're quite a lot to handle all at once," she says, wondering how close she can get to the heart of the issue without scaring Fenris away. _Better now than later, though bless my idiot brother, he's already gone and fallen hard for this guy, hasn't he?_  

"It is... very different from what I'm used to," Fenris says, still sounding very careful. "You all seem to care a great deal for one another."

"Well, we're all idiots, so we get along," Marian says, and Fenris smiles a little. "There's always room at the table for more idiots though."

"We are all half in each other's laps at that table, any more idiots and we'll start breaking furniture," Fenris says dryly, and Marian laughs. Then, quietly, he says, "Garrett is... not quite like anyone I've ever known."

"He's sweet," Marian says, watching Fenris closely. "Make no mistake, he's also a colossal idiot. Like, a huge moronic doof of a human being. And he's got a bit of a plaid fetish, but... he's a good person."

"I know," Fenris says, very quietly. "Like I said, he's not quite like anyone I've ever known."

_Ah._

"You've got baggage," Marian says.

Fenris snorts. "You might say that." He looks down. "It's nothing I would ever want Garrett involved with."

Marian nods, and smokes. Eventually, she says, "After our dad died, our mom was too emotionally wrecked to really look after the twins - Carver and Bethy, they were just little at the time. Instead of helping, I was off getting high or drunk - both, a lot of the time - in some really seedy places. So when Garrett was thirteen, fourteen, he was looking after two little kids and running around trying to keep his sister from dying in a back alley in Whalley from sheer teenage angst and stupidity, all while making sure his mother was getting out of bed in the morning and going to work so we had money for silly things like groceries."

She looks to Fenris, who watches her, expressionless but utterly still. Ash collects on the end of his forgotten cigarette as he listens. 

"I don't know what you've been through, and fuck knows I'm not trying to compare," Marian says. "I just want you to know that if you've got shit, it's not going to like... taint some pure and happy life devoid of shit. Garrett can take it. More than that, he'll want to, if you let him." Marian flicks her cigarette and adds, "But if you let him take too much, then you'll have me to answer to. And believe me, I'm a lot scarier than Andy is."

Fenris examines her for a good long while after she says this, then finally nods and says, "I believe you."

Marian grins, taking one last pull on her cigarette, then drops the butt and stamps it out. "See you back inside?"

Fenris nods again, and Marian heads back for the door, passing Razzy as he curses and mutters "motherfucking never-ending Magikarp _motherfucker_ " under his breath and taps furiously at his phone.

-

Fenris seems a little quieter when he returns from outside, and though Garrett's pretty smashed by this point his keen detective skills alert him to the fact that both he and Marian smell like the same kind of cigarette.

He thinks. It all smells like death to him. But it smells good on Fenris.

Not that he wants Fenris to smoke. Smoking is bad. 

_But there's something about the image of Fenris with that smirk, and a little curl of smoke escaping between his lips-_

"Do you smoke weed sometimes maybe?" Garrett says to Fenris, and he's impressed by how articulate he is with this much cheap beer in him. 

(He's not _hammered_ , of course, because that would not be classy and because he wants to enjoy this night with Fenris. He's just a little tipsy, is all.)

Fenris raises an eyebrow at him, a slight smile on his lips, and says, "Sometimes, maybe."

It occurs to Garrett in this moment that Fenris is the perfect size for carrying over thresholds. In a post-matrimony kind of way. 

Aloud, he says, "Good shit," and reaches for a very large glass of water. 

(He isn't sure, but he thinks Fenris might be laughing at him a little.)

"Oh, before I forget," says Marian suddenly, leaning forward and nearly planting her elbow in a bowl of guacamole. "Ah, shit. Anyway. That MOW I did finally got its shit together and they're having a wrap party next weekend. Everyone gets a plus-one but given that I almost single-handedly saved the production at least three times I don't think they'll mind if I bring a few extras."

"Is it Saturday?" Bethany says, biting her lip. Marian nods, and Bethany sighs. "Can't. Late-night shift and I'm already covering for one of the other servers. Damn."

"I've been to your film parties," Aveline says wearily. "I think I'll pass on that, thank you. Last time I spent the whole night threatening to arrest drunk assholes for harassing young women."

"I got to punch that one guy," Isabela says, sounding a little dreamy. "It was wonderful. I'll be coming, of course."

"Are you going?" Carver asks Merrill quietly. Garrett can see the furrow in his brow, etched there by Aveline's "drunk assholes" comment. 

"Well, it sounds like a grand time, physical violence and harassment aside," Merrill says. "Oh! I worked on the show, maybe I could bring you as a plus-one?"

"If you're going then I'll go, for sure," Carver says, a little fiercely. Merrill giggles, and Carver blushes. 

Garrett turns to Fenris, who has been listening passively and leaning in against him a little and smelling very nice despite the smokiness, and says, "Would you like to come?"

Fenris startles a little, blinking at Garrett ( _up_  at Garrett, a little, and if Garrett were standing he'd be weak in the knees). "I- uh. I've... never been to a film party before."

"Oh, it's nothing to worry about, darling," Isabela says, smilingly wolfishly from across the table. "The first hour of the night is spent socializing with the people you've been itching to murder for the past few months while accepting all sorts of business cards that you'll never use, then the rest of the night is just about getting blind drunk and waiting to see who becomes the subject of gossip and scrutiny for the _next_  few months."

"One actor ordered a limo and a bottle of Don Perignon and drove us all up to the mountains, once," Marian says, sipping her beer. "And no, I won't say who, but he was an A-lister, is all I'm saying."

"For the study of humanity and the sake of my next novel, I will be attending," Varric says. "Don't worry Shortstop, it's not as scary as it sounds. You might even have a little fun."

"Am I "Shortstop" now?" Fenris murmurs to Garrett.

"You might be," Garrett whispers back. "Sometimes it takes a little while for him to settle on a name."

"How did you become "Waffles," then?"

Varric, listening in, snorts and says, "Well, that's a story that-"

" _-will never be told to you ever_ ," Garrett says, covering Fenris's ears. "If any of my family and friends have even a _passing_  affection for me, _please_  do this one thing. No waffles."

Garrett is surrounded by a sea of smirks, proving that he is also surrounded by a sea of _evil jackasses._

Fenris gently removes Garrett's hands from his ears, also smirking. "I'm certain it is a story worth hearing, now, but I can wait. And I... might come to this party. If that's alright."

"That is exactly the definitely of "alright," but like, super alright? More enthusiasm," Garrett says, waving his hands. "Good! I'm not drunk."

"Right, well, I've got a night shift on Saturday, so I'm out," Anders says. "Try to make sure no one winds up in my hospital, yeah?"

"Anyone special working with you that night, Andy?" Isabela says, propping her chin on her hands and grinning at him.

" _No_ ," Anders says firmly, his face turning a delicate shade of pink. "Alright, well, I'm ready for bed, I think. Right now. I'm going to go pay up, _shut up Bela,_  see you all outside."

-

Fenris and Garrett don't really talk, as they pay for their dinners and drinks. Garrett tries to pay for Fenris, who looks utterly stunned by this gesture before batting his hand away and pulling out his own wallet, and somehow between the two of them both of their bills are settled. There's a kind of understanding in the quiet, though. The kind of silent communication and matched-up steps of two people who are _aware_  of each other in a way that can't really be described.

Either that, or Garrett is a lot more tipsy than he thinks he is.

Outside, everyone gathers in the parking lot. Carver and Merrill say their goodbyes and head over to the bus stop, Aveline and Varric wait for a taxi to come pick them up. The others prepare for the twenty-minute walk back to the house, as Garrett and Fenris drift away to find a little privacy under the shadow of a nearby tree that the parking lot seems to have been paved around, the concrete buckling over its roots.

"Would you like to come back to my place?" Garrett blurts out, as Fenris zips up his sweater. His tattooed hands stutter a little on the zipper, and he looks up sharply, his eyes wide. "No, no, not- I mean, unless you want- I was just thinking it's late, and Hastings is _Hastings,_  and we have a couch! Well, I'd probably lend you my bed, but things are a little disastrous in there right now because of finals-"

"I appreciate the offer, but I'm alright," Fenris says firmly, and there's enough of that wry playfulness in his voice that Garrett is reassured that he hasn't scared him off for good. "It's not too far, and despite the area the bus past my place is usually... tame."

"Just- stay safe," Garrett says, resisting the urge to wrap his arms around Fenris and possibly never let him go. "And maybe let me know when you get home? Just so I know you're okay- what?"

Fenris is laughing - a low, throaty chuckle, not quite his shy giggles that Garrett has heard before. It's still a beautiful sound. 

"I'm sorry," Fenris says, shaking his head. "It's just- no, I can't really explain. Your concern for my safety is very sweet, but I promise, wholly unnecessary."

"I'm sure it is," Garrett says with a grin. "You're a badass, I can tell. Hell, you've already come to my rescue once."

"I would do it again," Fenris says, and though he's still smiling there's a surprisingly serious undercurrent in his voice. 

"Please feel free, not just because it's insanely hot," Garrett says, and winces. "I mean- oh, fuck it, I'm not sober enough to pretend I didn't mean that. It was. You are."

Now Fenris is laughing again, and before Garrett can dig himself a deeper hole verbally, his mouth is thoroughly occupied by Fenris's. 

He tastes like wine, and cigarettes, and his hand is around the back of his neck, pulling him in. Garrett lets himself wrap his arms around Fenris the way he _wants_  to, holding him close. Safe.

Fenris kisses, Garrett thinks, like he's trying to say something. There's something so desperate to be understood, in how he presses his lips to Garrett's mouth, hesitant and daring and giving and _taking_  all at once. He kisses, too, like he's trying to learn - like there's something in the circle of Garrett's arms that he can't quite wrap his mind around, something he has to explore and grow to understand through touch, and taste.  

Or maybe Garrett is just _really_  that drunk.

Predictably, there's a raucous whoop from a handful of metres away, and Garrett looks up to see Isabela waving cheerily with the world's most shit-eating grin plastered across her perfect face. Marian, unhelpfully, just gives Garrett a thumbs-up and puts an arm around her girlfriend's shoulders, planting a kiss on her cheek for good measure. 

"I hope _they_ haven't scared you off," Garrett says with a wince, as Fenris buries his face in Garrett's chest with a short groan. "Were you and my sister talking earlier? How did that go?"

"Well," Fenris says, lifting his face, and he's frowning a little thoughtfully. "It was... good to speak to her. She said some things that I think I needed to hear."

"That can't be good," Garrett says. "No one gives tough love speeches like Riri does."

Fenris smiles. "You could say that."

Fenris steals another kiss, just a gentle one, and heads off towards the bus stop, looking back over his shoulder to smile and wave.

" _Text me when you get home!_ " Garrett calls after him, and Fenris rolls his eyes before turning away, shaking his head, still smiling.

Garrett joins the others, a little bounce in his step, and waits approximately five seconds after they start walking together before asking, "So? What did you think?"

"He's either going to be the kinkiest lay you will ever have, or the most vanilla, I haven't quite pinpointed which," Isabela says.

"He's very polite," Bethany says. "In a genuine sort of way, though. He was kind to me, even if we didn't speak much. So far he seems wonderful."

Marian is quiet for a few moments, and Garrett wonders again what the _fuck_  she and Fenris were talking about outside. Eventually, she shrugs and says, "You could do worse. Fuck, you _have_  done worse."

"Can a man not live his life and make his mistakes free from judgment and persecution?" Garrett laments, letting himself collapse onto an unsuspecting Anders' shoulder, who yelps and only just manages to catch his weight in time. "Speak to me, dear friend, some comfort!"

Anders shoves Garrett back onto his feet with a huff and says, "I don't like him."

Marian, Bethany, and Isabela all groan, as Garrett pouts at Anders.

"Andy, you haven't liked the last three guys who've looked Garrett's way since Seb," Bethany says. "We didn't even get past the nickname stage with them!"

"I liked Sock-Crotch, myself," Marian says, sighing. "He had nice hair."

"You've been _naming_  them?" Garrett says. "Who was Sock-Crotch? When was this?"

"Last year, that guy at the Hanged Man who kept buying you drinks and saying like, weirdly prophetic and kind of meta things when he got drunk? He was totally into you," Bethany says. "But _no,_  Andy thought he was- oh, it was something elaborate and eloquent-"

"I thought he was a douche," says Anders flatly.

"Right! That's it!"

"And in case you were questioning the name, he had a gym sock peaking out of his pants nearly all the time," Isabela says. "Trying to make himself look a little grander. All respect to him for it, it was just a little _much_."

"He was stuffing?" Garrett says. "Wow, that guy had my self-esteem shot for weeks. Good to know. Not that I'm not _perfectly_  adequate- slightly _above_  average-"

Marian and Bethany trade a look, make twin retching noises, and cut Garrett off by shoving him into a bush.

-

Isabela is uncharacteristically quiet when they get home; quiet as she and Marian clean the makeup off their faces, brush their teeth, the nightly dance perfected after over a year, almost two years of practice. Usually after some drinks Isabela's first move once in the bedroom is to jump Marian - almost always literally - and have her wicked way with her.

There is no jumping tonight. She slips out of her shirt and bra and pulls on a pair of boxer shorts - her preferred sleeping attire - and frowns thoughtfully as Marian finds a ragged old t-shirt hanging over the side of her dresser and quickly sniffs-checks it before pulling it on over her head. 

"Everything okay, babe?" Marian asks, plugging her phone - _five new e-mails, one missed call, eleven text messages_  - into its charger and setting it to silent mode for the night.

"Oh, I don't know," Isabela says, climbing into bed and propping her elbows up on her pillow, her chin in her hand. "I suppose seeing the fresh bloom of young love has me a little sentimental."

Marian snorts, and switches off the light, sliding under the covers. "They're not teenagers, and since when do you get sentimental?"

"They might as well be, for how they act around each other. All that mincing of words and lovesick, longing glances-"

"Are you talking about Garrett and the barista, or Merrill and Carver?"

"Both," Isabela says. "Your brothers are hilarious to watch when they've got their hearts set on someone. And Merrill's a darling girl, really. That Fenris though..."

"You got that vibe too, huh?" Marian says quietly. "I talked to him, and... I think I trust him. I trust that he doesn't want to hurt Garrett, at least. I don't entirely trust that he won't, though."

"He seems like a man who is very keen on keeping his private life private," Isabela says. "But if he has any experience of the world at all, he'll know it's no use. Everything always comes out in the end, doesn't it?"

Marian is grateful for the dark, hiding her wince. "You're not wrong."

"Anyway," Isabela says, her hand finding Marian's overtop the covers. "I just... wanted to be certain we're on the same page, I suppose. We don't really talk about feelings, but- fuck, I'm remembering why we don't talk about feelings, this is horrendously awkward."

"It wasn't until you pointed it out," Marian says, shuffling close enough to lean in and kiss the tip of Isabela's nose. "I love you, Bela."

"I know," Isabela says softly. "And I... well, I-"

"I know," says Marian. "I also know you're not a fan of the "L" word."

""Lesbians?"" Isabela says, grinning, pushing Marian over and sliding on top of her. "You're quite wrong, darling, I happen to _like_  lesbians. Quite a lot, in fact."

"Oh, shush," Marian says, sitting up and pulling Isabela's hips in closer, until she's straddling her lap. "You know what I mean. And I know what you mean."

"I believe this is what the love gurus call "communication,"" Isabela says, rolling her hips. Marian bites her lip, reaching up to trail her fingers over Isabela's bare ribs, just to watch her shiver. "I've heard it's very important in committed relationships."

"Good for us, then," Marian says, flipping them over until Isabela is under her, laughing and rising up to meet Marian's kiss.

Later, once neither of them are wearing much in the way of clothing and they lie tangled up together, sweat cooling as Isabela rests her head on Marian's chest, black hair spilled across Marian's skin... lying there, holding Isabela in her arms, Marian says, "There's... a thing. A decision I have to make, kind of a big one. It could change things."

"Am I allowed to know what it is?"

If Isabela is worried, or annoyed, or... anything at all, really, Marian can't tell. There's nothing in her voice to suggest she's anything other than well-sated, a little tipsy, and drifting off to sleep.

"I don't want to worry you, and I don't... I honestly don't want to think about it until I absolutely have to," Marian says. "But I promise that if and when I do actually have to think about it, you'll know. You'll know everything."

Isabela lifts her head, blinking at Marian a little sleepily, then lies back down again.

"I trust you, Marian," Isabela says, her voice soft. "Don't make me regret it, darling. Not ever."

_I will._

"I won't."

-

**From: Fen ( <3)**

Am home alive and well. Goodnight, Hawke.

 

**To: Fen ( <3)**

now see was that so hard?? glad to know you have not been kidnapped by aliens!! it happens more than you think!!

 

**From: Fen ( <3)**

...There is a bright light at the door now that you mention it...

 

**To: Fen ( <3)**

??

 

**From: Fen ( <3)**

...Some low rumbling... such strange noises...

 

**To: Fen ( <3)**

??!!

 

**From: Fen ( <3)**

You really are far too easy. Have a good sleep.

 

**To: Fen ( <3)**

>:[ ALIENS ARE NO LAUGHING MATTER

 

**To: Fen ( <3)**

WE ARE NOT ALONE IN THE UNIVERSE

 

**To: Fen ( <3)**

DON'T YOU WATCH THE HISTORY CHANNEL

 

**To: Fen ( <3)**

...you're probably asleep now aren't you

 

**From: Fen ( <3)**

zz

 

**To: Fen ( <3)**

...if that wasn't so adorable I'd probably be at least somewhat annoyed by your lack of consideration for the *very real threat* of alien abduction but as it stands

 

**To: Fen ( <3)**

you got me

 

**To: Fen ( <3)**

have a good sleep!!!!

 

**To: Fen ( <3) **(Draft)

it's wayyy to early to say this but I kind of love y

 

**[Draft Deleted]**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WHAT'S THIS?? NOTES?? YAYY!!!
> 
> IN THE CHAPTER:
> 
> \- I probably have mentioned it before but Whalley is the rough end of Surrey. I mean Newton's starting to get pretty bad too but Whalley's kind of infamous. Violent crime wise I think it surpasses the Downtown Eastside as the most dangerous place in the lower mainland. 
> 
> \- Film parties are pretty much exactly how I described them. As a girl-shaped person they can be sometimes a little... stressful, as some guys- well, you mix some straight dudes with alcohol and shit goes sideways fast. Wrap parties are much more relaxed than other film gatherings (where I make a regular game of "how many business cards fall out of my bra at the end of the night?" topmost was seven one night when I wasn't even trying to network). Lots of alcohol, depending on the show it might be free, taxi vouchers EVERYWHERE. Honestly they're a lot of fun if done right.
> 
> \- The actor who got a limo and a bottle of Don Perignon and took some film crew up to the mountains? True story. Happened to a very close friend of mine when she was but a lowly Key PA. No, I won't say who. But some actors are just great, and apparently Don Perignon is absolutely amazing and totally worth dropping $300 on a bottle.
> 
> \- I know the fancanon nickname for Fenris is "Broody," but I thought I'd have a little fun given that he's just "the Elf" in DA2. Expect more nicknames to come!
> 
> IN MY LIFE:
> 
> \- My job is going great!!!
> 
> \- A lot of other stuff is falling to shit!!!
> 
> \- I might be slightly exaggerating but it's looking like September is going to be a hell of a stressful month with a lot of hard decisions coming up, and I'm just... very very tired.
> 
> \- Also we have mice living under the stage and the piano ripped my skirt off during a performance but tbh those are more what I would categorize as "adventures" instead of "problems."
> 
> ANYWAY as always I appreciate the love and support and just... everyone who makes this fic worth writing. I love you, and if it wasn't for you this fic wouldn't be here, so thank you <3


	13. Clever Ways of Working Established Canon Character Names Into an AU: The Novel

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kind of a short chapter, but the next chunk is going to be a long one that will probably be split into two chapters, and there wasn't a lot of plot between here and there. FoxNonny gets an A+ in pacing amirite.

Marian is a fucking pro at minding her own goddamn business.

It's part of why she's so good at what she does. She keeps an ear out for the things that are important to know, which is a lot, and blocks out all the personal drama. Does she care that someone in accounting is dating someone from the art department? She does not. Does she care that said person from accounting is taking their sweet ass time getting her the new budgets _because_  they're flirting with their art department significant other? Yes, she does, because that affects her personally. The two of them hooking up in the bathroom on lunch breaks does not.

So when she passes Alaine's office and overhears her having a heated conversation on the phone, she's tempted to just keep on walking. And she should. She really should.

But Alaine's clearly been bothered by something recently, and while it's not really been an issue work-wise, it does impact the mood. So Marian pauses at the door, and listens in.

"-is going to be set in stone in the next _few days_ , please- just think of the opportunity-" Alaine pauses, listening, and rolls her eyes. "I don't believe that for a second, Hanny. I don't know what you're even _doing_  in Locs when- I'm sorry. Okay, just... I really hope this is what you want. Okay. Give my love to Aunty T. Bye." 

Alaine hangs up with a groan, propping her forehead onto her palm. Without looking up, she says, "You heard that, I guess?"

"Didn't mean to eavesdrop," Marian says, coming into the office and closing the door behind her. "Only caught the last little bit, anyway. Everything okay?"

"It's fine, just... family shit, I guess," Alaine says, lifting her head. "Well, no, not quite. You know how I pushed back the deadline for casting?"

Marian nods. "Still waiting on casting the lead, yeah?"

"Sort of. Casting's already got a guy in mind, but- _ugh._ " Alaine opens her desk drawer and pulls out a worn copy of the first _Inquisition_  novel, dog-eared and filled to bursting with Post-Its and bookmarks. "I've read this shit backwards and forwards, and I've had enough meetings with Harel to just- I mean, he's a brilliant man, a brilliant author, but my _God,_ he talks like he's the only person in the world with a functioning brain."

Marian snorts. She's never met the author personally, as Solas F. Harel tends to keep to himself and has no interest in helping to produce the series beyond an advisory position, but she's spoken with him enough times to know _exactly_  what Alaine is talking about. 

"The Inquisitor is supposed to be this like... figure of power, but since he's the lead it's important that we _humanize_  him. And for the story arc of the first few seasons especially, since we have that whole "fish-out-of-water" theme, we should be casting someone sympathetic, who can do the serious shit but also keep that open, human vulnerability. Mahanon is _perfect_  for the role, Marian, and he won't take it if I offered it to him on a silver platter. Which I practically have!"

Marian blinks. "Wait- Mahanon? Our Mahanon?"

Alaine nods. "You haven't seen him, probably, but he's really good. Shakespearean-trained. He even led a mini-series for ITV a few years ago when he was- eighteen, nineteen? He'd be perfect, and I feel like he could really _make_  the show come together, you know? It's just such a waste."

"Has he auditioned?" Marian asks, walking over and taking a seat across from Alaine.

"God no, though I practically begged him to," Alaine says, shaking her head. "He technically still has an agent representing him - who, by the way, has been having conniptions since Mahanon moved here last November. But he won't do it. I don't understand, he _loves_  acting. If something happened back in England, I haven't heard about it."

"Well he's- what, twenty-one? Twenty-two? Maybe he's trying to "find himself," or something," Marian says. "It's a tough time in anyone's life, right?"

Alaine sighs, leaning back in her chair. "I was so sure of what I wanted when I was that age. But... well, I know not everyone's like that. Still, I'm just worried he's going to look back one day and regret not _doing_  it. It's never the things we do that we regret as much as the things we don't."

Marian looks away from Alaine, her scarred face and missing arm, and nods, trying not to think of her own impending decisions. Her own potential regrets.

"So who is casting looking at, anyway?" Marian says, dragging herself out of her own thoughts. "Anyone exciting?"

Alaine makes a discontented noise and pulls a headshot out from under a stack of papers, sliding it over to Marian. "A B-lister, better known back in the UK than here. His name is Corey Pheus, and I've heard he can be a handful on set. Diva-type. Not exactly what I was hoping for, but he's got a good tape for the role, and Harel has cleared him as a potential."

Marian looks the headshot over, frowning. The man in the photo is older than she is by a few years, maybe in his early to mid-thirties, right at the top-end of the casting range. He has a kind of chiseled regality, his eyes serious and cold, his lips stern, almost sneering at the camera. He's attractive, and Marian can see the appeal of casting him in the role - giving the Inquisitor a confident maturity, a sense of being _meant_  to lead. 

It's the boring choice, Marian thinks with an odd thump. _Another series headed by a thirty-something white guy. Radical._

In turn, she thinks of Mahanon - his large, earnest grey-green eyes, bronze skin, and wild dark curls. She thinks of his sober, serious side when tasked with something important. His softer side when helping new PAs get their bearings. 

He wouldn't be the obvious choice. But she can see it, and she likes that image a lot better than the one she currently holds in her hands.

"I'm gonna be seeing him this weekend, probably," Marian says, placing the headshot back on Alaine's desk. "Wrap party for that shitty MOW. It'll be too late for casting by then, but... do you want me to talk to him?"

Alaine bites her lip, then nods. "Maybe he'll listen better if it's coming from you, and not his overbearing cousin. Or maybe he'll get drunk and open up to you about why he's being an idiot, but... maybe not. He's not really the partying type."

Marian tilts her head, and asks, "Is this Corey guy a partier?"

Alaine scoffs. "Not if it ruins his manicure."

"I'm not gonna like this guy much, am I?"

"Marian, let's just say if the rumours are true and you _can_  suplex a man when provoked, this would be the man to deck. God, we're gonna have ourselves a time."

-

Garrett does not skip into Hightown on Thursday afternoon. Given that he tops over six feet and has the build of a lumberjack, skipping isn't quite his style.

But there is a certain jauntiness in his step that can't be helped as he catches sight of a flash of white hair disappearing behind the counter, putting away a jug of coconut milk. He fights a grin as Fenris reappears, catching sight of him and visibly lighting up before settling his face into a more neutral expression.

"Are you here for a rendezvous with yet another eligible bachelor, Hawke?" Fenris says as Garrett comes up to the counter. "People might start to talk, you know."

"Nah, there's only one eligible bachelor I'm into these days," Garrett says with a grin.

"The men of Tinder must be weeping," Fenris says.

"The men of Tinder will have to cope," Garrett says.

Fenris laughs, and turns away. "The usual?"

"Yeah, but-" Garrett waves his wallet. "Did you forget something?"

Fenris looks back over his shoulder, glances at Garrett's wallet, and says, "No."

Several thoughts collide in Garrett's head at once, all of them dangerous and horrible things to say aloud.

The first being, "Marry me."

The second being, "I love you."

And the third being, "Take me now, you beautiful bastard."

What he comes out with is "Melughnowumph, thank you."

Fenris pokes his head up from behind the espresso machine, frowning. "I didn't quite catch that first part."

"Wasn't important," Garrett says, coming around the side to see Fenris better. To watch him work. It's fascinating, watching Fenris handle the machines. Pouring things. Bending over on occasion. _Fascinating_. "So, how have you been? Anything exciting happen?"

"A man came in who was convinced that I was the Second Coming of the Lord, which was flattering," Fenris says. "And honestly, what better representative of the Christian faith than a heavily-tattooed Pakistani man who makes coffee for a living?"

"I think that's actually closer to the original Biblical text than the blue-eyed white guy I keep seeing in Renaissance paintings," Garrett says. "And there's a joke to be made in there about the "Second Coming.""

Fenris rolls his eyes. "Isabela would be so proud of you."

"Nah, she would have actually landed the joke," Garrett says, shaking his head. "What time are you off work tonight?"

"Not till late," Fenris says. "And I'm working the closing shift tomorrow too."

Garrett winces. "I wouldn't want to work a closing shift in Gastown, to be honest."

Fenris shrugs. "It can be... entertaining. But I've never felt I'm in any danger here."

There's a certain inflection to the word _here,_  and the implications make Garrett itch for information. He meant it when he said he didn't need to know anything Fenris didn't want to share, or couldn't share, but sometimes...

Sometimes Garrett just wants to hold someone, or _something_ , accountable for the haunted look in Fenris's eyes. The way he sometimes flinches if someone moves too fast, too close. How his natural stance is wound tight, like he's ready to run or fight at any second. How he keeps this, all of this, wrapped up and plastered over with a calm exterior. 

Garrett thinks he saw a flash of something buried deep in Fenris, once. That snarling, burning rage when the rich guy Isabela set him up with grabbed his arm. Just a flash, but the image has stuck in Garrett's mind ever since.

He wants to know. He doesn't want to know. Maybe both. 

"Are you still in for the party on Saturday, then?" Garrett says. "I promise it's not going to be as crazy as everyone made it sound. Well. Um, actually, I can't promise that. But if things go sideways we can always duck out early."

"I'm a little... nervous isn't the word." Fenris pauses, and sighs. "Or maybe it is. But I've been told I need to try new things, so here I am. Trying. And besides, I look forward to spending time with you."

Fenris says this frankly, honestly, and Garrett feels a rush of warmth at the words. "Me too. Looking forward to spending time with you. Not me. I mean, I spend a lot of time with me already-"

Fenris hands Garrett his coffee with a raised brow. "I think I understand, Hawke."

"Right." Garrett takes a sip, and maybe it's just the rose-coloured glasses of romance or whatever, but he can't help but notice that Fenris makes coffee at just the right temperature, with just the right flavour. "So, this friend of yours... he seems to give a lot of advice."

Fenris shrugs, wiping down the espresso machine. "He advises people for a living, so I suppose it's part of his nature. He's usually right, and when I first met him... well, I needed quite a lot of advice."

Garrett opens his mouth to ask- something. Anything. _How did you meet? What is he like? When am I gonna meet him? What kind of advice?_  He stalls, though, because the past - Fenris's past - is such a thorny thing...

Fenris looks at him, and huffs out what could almost be a laugh. "I apologize. I don't mean to sound mysterious."

"It's part of your charm, you know- the mysterious hot guy who's probably a superhero on the sly," Garrett says. At Fenris's sardonic look, he adds softly, "I really don't mind, Fen. I just want you to be comfortable. We can take our time."

Fenris looks at Garrett, his eyes full with some emotion that Garrett is certain he hasn't experienced enough of the world yet to understand.

"Thank you," says Fenris quietly. "I... appreciate it greatly."

They spend the next few minutes ironing out details for Saturday night - what time they're meeting, where they're meeting, whether Isabela should plan Garrett's outfit or not (she should), until more customers come up to Fenris's till and Garrett has to say goodbye.

-

It's horrifically easy to tell when Anders is upset, as he tends to do three things: kidnap the closest living creature (preferably furry), drink, and watch bad American reality TV shows. 

So when Garrett walks in to find Anders lying on the couch with Pounce napping on his chest, Haunt attacking his feet, Archie on his head and watching _Cake Wars_  with a Grower's apple cider in hand and two empty bottles on the floor, he knows something has gone very wrong in Anders' world.

"You know what's sad?" Anders says, as Garrett approaches cautiously. "The host guy, dude, whatever, he was the hot kid from _Mean Girls._  And now he hosts a show about cakes that caters to the... commercialization of- you know, false reality and selling hopes and dreams but _not really,_  and- is the bitch crazy, there's no _time_  for fondant! The _fuck._ "

"That pretty much sums up my sentiments," Garrett says, taking the armchair and glancing at the screen to see a panicked woman covered in icing sugar up to her elbows smoothing fondant over a slab of cake as big as a car tire. "You doing okay there, buddy?"

"American TV is fascinating," Anders says, wincing as Haunt moves on from his feet to sinking his little teeth into his left knee. "Ow. Anyway. The ads are so incredibly overdone and these competitive TV shows really showcases, um- something. I hate people. Men. Men are the fucking worst. Bitch-ass white guys especially."

"Andy, you're a bitch-ass white guy."

"I'm not excluding myself. It's called self-awareness. You too, but you're okay, but I'm not in a place to judge that actually so maybe I don't know if you're okay or not. We should ask Bela."

"Because Bela's the lady to talk to regarding questions of social consciousness," Garrett says, wincing as a contestant in the show drops a pane of isomalt glass and cries out in horror as it smashes into pieces on the floor. "So is there a bitch-ass white guy in particular who's driving you to the Food Network?"

Anders scowls, and sips his cider. Archie shuffles around on his head, settling into a nest of hair and closing his eyes.

"Professionalism is overrated," Anders says. "Also being married to your career is stupid. Also, there's nothing wrong with having a kid. I love kids! They're like cats, only bigger, and less fluffy, and- actually, I don't love kids. They're not like cats. _But they could be._  It's just _stupid_  coming up with a million reasons why- _LINDA, YOUR BUTTERCREAM IS BROKEN. IT'S BROKEN. THROW IT OUT AND START OVER._  God, what a fucking mess."

"Andy, I once watched you try to make icing with granulated sugar and margarine, I really don't think you're in a place to judge."

"It was a _textured_ buttercream, Garrett."

"It was a violation of the basic laws of cake-making. An affront to the Cake Boss himself. It was unholy."

"Rude." Anders pets Pounce for a few moments, and sighs. "I just wish everything wasn't so stupid. Fuck. I don't know. I don't really want to talk about it. How was your day?"

Garrett struggles with himself a moment, smiling as he thinks of Fenris (and his coffee, and his little smirk, and his fucking toe-curling, heart-melting voice) and trying to think of something else to talk about to cheer Andy up. Despite his efforts, however, Anders catches sight of his grin and groans. "You saw the barista today, then."

"You really don't like him, do you?" Garrett says. "I'm sure once you get to know him-"

"Do _you_  even know him?" Anders says, frowning. "Has he told you anything about himself? Anything at all to explain why his knuckles are like that? And his ear?"

Garrett blinks. He blinks an awful lot.

Then he says, "What?"

"Look at his _hands_ , Garrett," Anders says. "The tattoos hide it, but his knuckles are _scarred._  Deeply scarred. And the fingers are crooked, like they've been broken a few times. One of his ears is misshapen in a way that you see in people who beat people up for a living. Is the guy a professional MMA fighter? These aren't injuries you get from making fucking lattes."

Garrett is still blinking, and now trying to remember if he's ever _seen_  Fenris's ears. They're usually hidden under thick locks of snowy hair, or a black beanie. But his hands...

"He's had a rough life," Garrett says, a little uneasily. "I don't need to know the details."

Anders' face softens a little, and he sounds almost regretful when he says, "I'm not saying any of this to be a dick. It seems like he really cares for you. But I'm really fucking worried. Because either he did that shit to himself by hurting other people, or someone did it _to_  him. That fucks people up. And if it's not all neat and tidy and tucked away in whatever tragic backstory he's got... you could get hurt. I don't just mean heart-wise. _You could get hurt._ "

There's something deadly serious in Anders' eyes, something Garrett can't look at for too long before he has to turn away. 

"Thank you for looking out for me," Garrett says. "I'll... think about it."

"If he really cares about you, he'll tell you," Anders says, turning back to the screen. "Not everything, you're right that you don't need to know everything, but- fuck, _something._  Aren't you the least bit curious?"

Garrett's more than just a bit curious. A lot more. 

But right now there's _Cake Wars,_  and the taste of Fenris's cinnamon latte still swirling around his mouth, and Anders devolves into shouting about properly emulsifying white chocolate ganache, so Garrett puts aside all questions regarding Fenris's past and elects to focus on the present.

For now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guys, Canadian TV is wildly different from American TV. There's just no explaining it, but when my sister and I visit the States one of our favourite things to do is just to watch American TV, especially bad reality shows. The people I'm staying with right now have the Food Network and it has been a goddamn RIDE. 
> 
> Also I want to specify that my personal opinion is in a relationship, whatever works, works. No person is entitled to your past and you can love someone without telling them every horrible thing that has ever happened to you. I'm also a big fan of communication in a relationship, and a lot of the arc of this story is Fenris kind of opening up and learning to trust Garrett with his past. BUT I don't want that to be taken as "IF YOU LOVE SOMEONE YOU HAVE TO TELL THEM THINGS THAT ARE UNCOMFORTABLE FOR YOU TO TALK ABOUT" because that is not a thing I believe. A lot of this story is about trust in general - trust enough to tell people things, and trusting that if someone you love is not telling you something, they have a good reason for doing it. Trusting that even if you don't know everything, you know enough to love them anyway.
> 
> Also, in case anyone was wondering how FoxNonny's life is going, I received a positive review for my performance in a cabaret show where I had to pretend to be Donald "Please don't feel so stupid or insecure" Drumpf's hair for an improv segment at one point, which was lauded in the small town press as a "highlight of the night." #acting
> 
> As always, especially now as the next two weeks/several months look like they're going to be a bit of a rollercoaster, I really appreciate comments and kudos. Like. You have no idea. I come back and reread them when I'm feeling down, and they keep me writing and energized. I love, love, love everyone who takes the time to read this weird AU, and I'm so incredibly grateful for each and every hit, kudos, comment, bookmark, what have you. Thank you, thank you.


	14. The Cambie is a Dive

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> FOXNONNY'S BACK KIDS

Large film and television productions, ones that are well-funded and earn a significant profit, will often rent out entire restaurants for their wrap parties.

It ensures that the whole crew will not only fit in the venue, but feel at ease there as well. Actors can mingle with PAs and grips without fear of being swarmed by obsessed fans, and if there's an open bar (as there often is in these cases), the party gets wild very quickly. The venues chosen for these parties are often ones that are well-known in the city, well-loved, with a solid reputation for good food, good drinks, and good service. 

The MOW that Marian's name is now attached to forevermore is not one of these productions, and the Cambie is not one of these venues.

Not to say that it doesn't do very well for itself as it is. Situated next to the Woodwards Building in Gastown, the Cambie Bar & Grill is nestled under a popular hostel for adventurers of all kinds. The floor is sticky, the food is bland, and the washrooms smell like a back alley off East Pender. Yet because of its location, and because of the travellers living directly above it, the Cambie is never empty. Many nights, there is a line-up out the door to get in.

This is largely because the drinks are dirt cheap (and taste like it too). 

The production does not rent out the bar - they can't afford it, and the Cambie would never give up precious Saturday night revenue to host the cast and crew of a Hallmark Channel made-for-TV movie. Instead, they inform the Cambie that a large group of people will be arriving, and pay for skip-the-line privileges.

The Cambie herds them out onto the patio, which is where Marian finds herself an hour into the party, squashed up against the iron fencing and on her third pint of cheap beer, courtesy of the jugs floating around balanced precariously on the hands of young tattooed servers. 

"Why did I think this would be a good idea?" Marian grouses, moodily staring into the foamy head of her beer.

"Sweetheart, it's free drinks, loud music, and people we know finding delightful new ways to embarrass themselves," Isabela says, leaning into Marian's side with a grin. "It's a beautiful night, and we have a lovely hotel room at the Delta booked for our _own_  afterparty. Relax."

"I'm never relaxed," Marian says, but she smiles despite herself, and kisses Isabela on the cheek. "But I guess there are worse ways to spend a Saturday night."

"That's the spirit," Isabela says. "Now, where did Varric get to? I keep telling him to invest in stilts, but he never takes me seriously."

Marian nods to a crowd gathered furthest from the doors and the booming music echoing from inside the bar. "My guess is he's telling stories over there."

"Oh, good eyes. I'm hoping to get a round of poker started - it's been a while since I've taken money from intoxicated people."

"If you steal over a hundred, you better buy me something pretty," Marian says.

Isabela smirks, turning to crowd Marian up against the fence, her hands resting on either side of her and pinning her there. "I've got some ideas. Not suitable for polite company, however."

At that moment, a beefy, red-faced grip climbs atop a bench, cries " _I'm the king!_ " and rips off his shirt, flinging it into the crowd. 

Marian watches the sweaty shirt land on 2nd AD's head, whose only reaction is to roll her eyes and toss it away, and says, "I think we're okay."

Isabela kisses her, winks, and takes off into the crowd as another grip grabs the shirtless man by his arm and hauls him off the bench with a grimace.

Marian scans the gathering again, brow furrowed. She's yet to spot her brother - either of her brothers, actually - but she doubts either of them will get here before eight, anyway. Still, she is on a mission for the evening, and while this is hardly the place for a heart-to-heart-

_Aha._

Being nearly six-foot and having a distinct "don't fuck with me" resting face has its advantages, and the crowd parts obligingly before Marian as she beelines for a slight figure hiding in the shadows near the open Cambie doors, face down and eyes obscured by a nest of wild dark hair. 

"Hey, kid," Marian says, nudging Mahanon's trainers with the toe of her boot, grinning as he looks up with a startled expression. "Enjoying the party?"

"Just got here," Mahanon says, stowing his phone and offering Marian a wide grin. "I'm surprised you came out. Thought you would've been done with the lot of us by now, yeah?"

"I am, but my girlfriend wanted free drinks," Marian shrugs. "What are you up to now that this trash heap of a show is done with, anyway?"

Mahanon wrinkles his nose. "I'm OPA on a pilot that goes to camera next week. Comedy of some kind. There's a puppet involved and the art department keeps leaving it lying around the office. Scared the pants off me last time I went to go print something. After that, I dunno. Kind of playing it by ear, I guess." Marian nods, sipping her beer, and Mahanon sighs, casting Marian a weary look. "And... you're working on that project with my cousin. Did she ask you to come talk to me?"

Marian chokes, and spends the next few seconds trying to get her breath back while expelling cheap beer from her lungs as Mahanon watches with mild sympathy. Eventually, she says, "What gives you that idea?"

"Shit," Mahanon says, rubbing his temple. "She shouldn't have asked you to get involved. God damn it, Alaine. No, I- I know she means well. It's too late for casting though, isn't it?"

"We went with some B-lister who, quite honestly, looks like he's gonna be a pain in the ass. Pheus."

" _Corey?_ " Mahanon rolls his eyes and mutters, "An utter gobshite if ever there was one, honest." 

"Kinda figured," Marian says. "Anyway, I'm not really here on Alaine's behalf. Well, kind of. But more for my own sake, given that I don't know what manner of family drama I've stepped into, I'm more just... curious, as to why you didn't take the role. Hell, I didn't even know you were an actor until she told me."

"It's the family business," Mahanon says, waving a hand. "My grandfather was an enormously famous stage actor in the London West End. Even the Irish side's got a history of film and theatre involvement. I guess it was just lucky I liked acting - don't really know how the family would have felt if I was really passionate about plumbing, or something."

"So why stop?"

Mahanon bites his lip and folds his arms, tapping a nervous fingertip against the side of his beer glass. "I did a miniseries back in the UK, and it looked like things were taking off, but- it made me realize something. Look, I'm- I'm gay."

Marian blinks. "Working on a miniseries made you realize you were gay?"

" _No,_ " Mahanon says. "I've known practically all my life, luckily, I was never exactly confused about it. And we've got marriage equality here, there, and wherever now, hooray and all. But this miniseries was kind of a teen slice-of-life program, and suddenly all these magazines and radio shows were asking me if I've got a girlfriend or something, and-" Mahanon shakes his head. "What was I supposed to say?"

"Half the people in Hollywood aren't straight," Marian says. "If you're worried about coming out-"

" _I'm not_ ," Mahanon says fiercely. "I don't give a damn what people think about it, it's none of their business. But that's the whole problem - _it's none of their damn business_. My job should be about acting, shouldn't it? But even on that small show, everyone wanted to dig their fingers in. If I don't say anything and some paparazzi dickhead takes a photo of me with another man, I'm suddenly "closeted actor, found out, what a scandal," you know? But if I do, then it's this whole thing - this big coming-out story, and suddenly I have to act as a perfect figurehead for the community. I _know_  it's getting better, I've seen all the same campaigns you have I'm sure, but- fuck, I never had to think about it before, you know? Never had to think of any kind of _political_  implications for being who I am. I love acting, but I also just want to live, and fuck up, and say and do stupid shit without it all being written down and distributed for public scrutiny. I made a choice as to what's more important to me, and right now, this is it."

Marian takes all this in as Mahanon looks away from her, dark cheeks flushed as he takes a long swig of his beer. 

"Okay," she says.

Mahanon blinks, lowering his beer. "Beg pardon?"

"I literally can't argue with any of that," Marian says. "And I don't want to. It makes complete sense to me. Fuck knows I wouldn't want that kind of attention. If this is your way of compromising, then I think it's fine. Just... why PA work? With your family connections-"

Mahanon winces, and his eyes fall to his shoes again. 

"Well, I... I guess that's another part of it," Mahanon says quietly. "Look, I only got on that miniseries because the producer is friends with my mum. I hate that about this industry. Got nominated for some kind of award once it was finished and a costar told me I only got the nomination because of my family, and I knew they weren't entirely wrong. I honestly just wanted to see if I could do something for _myself_ , you know? That way if I succeed, I'll know it's because of what I can do, not who I know."

Marian tilts her head. "Huh." 

"What?"

"So you left acting because you want privacy, but... are you _sure_  it's not because of what that asshat said? That you didn't deserve what you got?"

Mahanon grimaces. "Let's call it a mix of both. Does it matter?"

"A little," Marian says. "It's not just the film industry that relies on connections, you know. If you're giving up your dream because it's not what you really want, that's one thing. But if you're giving it up because of something some jealous fuck said to you..."

"Now you're starting to sound like Alaine," Mahanon says.

"Heaven forbid," Marian says, and Mahanon snorts. "Hey, if you're not picked up by anyone before we go to camera, wanna work for us? It's not my decision, but I could use a little influence in the Locations department."

"I think most of Locations in Vancouver is either in love with you or afraid of you, to be honest," Mahanon says, seeming grateful for the change of subject. "Why, what do you need?"

"Merrill needs a job for the summer, and my little brother is in love with her and wants to work by her side to protect her from creepy grips," Marian says. "It's kind of a long story, but I'll definitely need someone sending me updates on the whole drama if just for the pure entertainment value. If you feel like making my summer."

Mahanon laughs, and says, "I'll think about it."

"Good man."

-

By the time Garrett gets to the Cambie, he and Fenris have had a lovely dinner, a nice little walk, and honestly he'd be perfectly fine if they both decided to head home right now and spend the evening cuddling on the couch with Anders' cats for a _Kitchen Nightmares_  marathon (Anders has not let up in his moody obsession with the _Food Network_ , and it's given Garrett a whole new addiction to American reality TV).

But he promised Marian he'd go, and he and Fenris are both attracted to the idea of free drinks, so they make their way through Gastown and up to the front door of the Cambie when-

" _Oi! Garrett!_ "

Garrett turns to see Isabela hanging over the iron fencing around the patio, nearly squished by the throng of people gathered behind her. He and Fenris share a look and a shrug, then walk over to her. 

"It's a complete madhouse in there, quicker if you hop the fence, I think," Isabela says, elbowing a man out of the way to make room. "Come on, then."

"If I get kicked out for skipping the ID check at the front door, I'm dragging you with me," Garrett says, casting an eye to the bouncer at the front of the building, who watches him with narrowed eyes.

"He knows me, and I'm wearing a _very_  low shirt tonight, I'm sure he'll be okay with it," Isabela says with a grin. "Don't be afraid to live a little, Garrett."

Garrett looks at Fenris, who just smirks at him. He sighs, and carefully maneuvers himself over the fence, squawking a little as it creaks and sways beneath his bulk and half-afraid he's going to slip and impale himself on a spike. He lands safely on the other side, and a quick glance at the bouncer reveals a man who looks very disappointed that he didn't maim himself in the process.

Garrett straightens, planning to offer to help Fenris over (and maybe entertaining some ideas of lifting Fenris into his arms, bridal-style, and carrying him over the fence in a show of manly strength and chivalry), only to see Fenris lightly jump the fence with one hand on the bar, exhibiting an easy strength and the flexibility of a gymnast. 

Garrett's mouth goes a little dry, and Isabela whistles. " _Nice_ , barista boy. Do that kind of thing often?"

"Perhaps," Fenris says with a shrug, straightening the sleeves of his shirt down over his tattooed arms. "I heard there were free drinks?"

"Right this way," Isabela says with a little bow. "Oh, Gare, your sister wanted a word. Last I saw her she was brooding by the entrance to the bar. I'll try not to run off with your date while you're gone, but-" she lets her gaze wander up and down Fenris' slim frame, "-no promises."

"Please don't run off with my sister's girlfriend," Garrett says to Fenris. "No matter how low her shirt is."

"No promises," Fenris says with an arched brow and a slight grin, and Isabela laughs delightedly.

"Both of you are menaces," Garrett says, pointing at them as he steps into the crowd. " _Both_  of you."

Neither Isabela nor Fenris seem too ashamed of themselves, much to Garrett's dismay. 

It takes a little searching and a lot of dodging overflowing cups of cheap beer being sloshed about by drunken film crew, but Garrett eventually spots Marian on the other side of the patio, frowning pensively about something. He passes in front of the doors to the main bar-

-and stifles a small scream as he's caught up in a massive bear hug by a man a foot taller and far broader than he is, who clearly intends to murder him boa-constrictor style. 

" _Hawke!_ " the man booms, and releases him, much to Garrett's shock. "Good to see you, kid. Looks like you landed the barista after all, huh?"

Garrett looks up, wheezing a little, and- " _Bull?_ "

"In the flesh," says Bull, folding his muscled arms over his chest with a broad grin. "I take it you're with the party, yeah? I was just inside catching a drink with Dorian and wondering what the fuck was going on out here."

"Dorian's here?" Garrett says, catching his breath and feeling his face light up. "You two are together, still! Fuck, that's cute."

"Turns out we're actually pretty good for each other," Bull says. "I've got to thank you for pulling me in that day - I mean, I would have gone for it anyway, but it was a decent thing to do. How're things with short, dark, and handsome, then?"

"Good," Garrett says, and finding himself smiling. "Really, really good. Um, your advice was- well, it was pretty spot on, in a lot of ways, I promise I didn't ignore it entirely."

"I'm kind of glad you did," Bull says with a shrug. "Just because something's a risk doesn't mean it's not worth taking, you know? And you seem happy, he seems happy- uh, who's the lady copping a feel of your man right now though, out of curiosity?" 

"My sister's girlfriend," Garrett says, not even turning to look. "Please don't ask."

"I'm in no place to judge," Bull says. "Actually, maybe you can help me out. Dorian and I've got our eyes on someone here, I'm wondering if you know him."

Garret blinks. "Got your eyes on someone- what for-?" Bull raises his eyebrow, and Garrett gapes a little, then says. "Oh. _Oh!_ Oh, um, okay, which one?" 

"The cute one under the tree, there, close to the scary girl," Bull says, pointing to a small man with wild hair leaning up against the fence, about a foot away from Marian. Garrett snorts at the description. "He's wandered past a few times, and Dorian's quiet and all, but I could see him checking him out. Call it a month-and-a-half anniversary present. Know him?"

"I think he's one of my sister's PAs," Garrett says, with a nod to Marian. She catches sight of him and waves, with a bemused glance between him and Bull, a question in her sharp blue eyes. "I'd say she's less scary when you get to know her, but that's not true."

"Ah, fuck, I see it now. You two twins?" Garrett nods, and Bull says, "I thought so. I don't know how far into this little gathering I can get without gatecrashing, but if you wanna send him over here, I'd owe you- well, more, I guess."

"I can try," Garrett says, patting Bull on the arm. "Good to see you again, big guy. Say hi to Dorian for me, eh?"

"Sure thing. And if you're ever unattached and looking for a fun night-" Bull winks, "-you've got his number."

"I'm both aroused and intimidated by the very notion," Garrett says, and Bull laughs. 

Garrett navigates his way around a group of actors exchanging business cards and arrives in front of Marian, who hands him a beer. "Thanks. Um, this guy is your PA, right?"

Marian glances at the man next to her, who doesn't look up from his phone, and says, "He was. Why, what's up?"

"Thought so. Um- sorry, what's his name?"

"Mahanon." 

At the sound of his name, the man looks up, and- well, he's really quite young, actually. And Bull was right, he is very cute. _Good eye._

"Everything okay?" Mahanon asks.

"Yeah, um-" Garrett rubs the back of his neck, and says, "Big guy at the front door there, kind of a friend of mine? He and his boyfriend think you're cute and they're wondering if you want to- hang out. So to speak."

Mahanon's mouth drops open, eyes widening. They only get wider when he glances over Garrett's shoulder and actually _sees_  Bull, which is fair enough, really. 

Marian looks from Mahanon, to Garrett, and back, then says, "What?"

"He's kind of direct about these kinds of things," Garrett says with a shrug. "He definitely won't take it personally if you don't go over there by the way, he's not the type to-"

Mahanon is gone before Garrett finishes speaking, quickly making his way through the crowds until he's in front of Bull, looking impossibly tiny next to the massive man. Bull grins down at him and tosses a big thumbs up in Garrett's direction before placing a large hand on Mahanon's slim shoulders and guiding him back into the pub.

Marian gapes at Garrett for a moment, then shakes her head and says, "Did you- did you just draft my Key PA into a kinky gay threesome?"

"I think I just did," Garrett says. "Consider it revenge for having to watch your girlfriend hit on my hot date."

"I don't want to know," says Marian. "Okay, well, aside from the fact that that image is now seared in my brain forever and I'm not even sure if I'm that mad about it, I take it Bela sent you over here?"

"She did," Garrett says, taking Mahanon's place beside Marian and leaning back against the fence. "What's the hippity hap?"

"Never say that again, and I thought I'd let you know that Bela and I are staying downtown tonight. We've booked a hotel room."

"Okay."

"And Anders is working the night shift tonight."

"Yeah."

"And Bethany's going to a friend's after her shift at the restaurant is done."

"Cool."

Marian stares at Garrett, who stares back. "What?"

"Oh, God, Garrett, you're my brother, please don't make me spell it out," Marian says, cringing. "I'm saying you've _got the house to yourself_  tonight, idiot."

Garrett blinks. "And?"

Marian makes an exasperated noise, drains her mug of beer, and nods pointedly to something over Garrett's shoulder.

Garrett turns to follow her gaze and sees Fenris with a mug in hand, already half a beer down, and listening with arched brows and Isabela pillowing her head on his shoulder as Varric tells him some kind of story. All Garrett hears is "Montreal," "seven redheads," and "proper appreciation of erotic literature," and he decides he doesn't really want to know. 

Fenris catches him looking, and his expression softens as their eyes meet, his lips curving into a gentle smile. 

"Do you get it now?" Marian asks quietly. 

It clicks. Garrett promptly drops his beer.

The mug doesn't shatter, but he and Marian are instantly soaked to the shins with cheap beer. Marian smacks his arm with a scowl. "I just cleaned these, dude."

"Sorry," Garrett says, feeling Fenris's eyes on him as he picks up the mug and brushes himself off, blushing. "I- I'm- thank you? Thank you, I'm not sure if we're- I mean I want- I'm sure he- there's just- but thanks?"

"Oh my God, Gare, calm down," Marian says softly. "I'm not throwing you two in bed together, I'm not Bela- who, by the way, is probably going to mention the empty house situation to Fen and might _actually_  throw you two in bed together, physically."

"Your girlfriend is a menace."

"I'm okay with it. I just want things to work out for you two, okay? So if you need something - like, say, an empty house from time to time - just let me know."

Despite the fact that he is still probably red as a tomato and struggling not to drop his mug again, Garrett can't help but smile. "Marian, you're a sweetheart."

"Shut up."

"An absolute daisy of a human."

"I've thrown a man before and I will do it again- do _not-_ "

Marian screeches a little as Garrett wraps his arms tight around her torso and lifts her into the air for a hug, and it's worth the sudden slosh of shitty beer down his back to hear his sister laughing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HOWDY FRIENDS. LET'S GET THE USUAL END NOTES ESSAY OUT OF THE WAY, THEN.
> 
> The Cambie is, as you might suspect, a real place. An honest-to-God real place, and one of the most famous dives in Vancouver. My experiences there have never been boring but by God, you definitely go there for the atmosphere, not for food. It might be the actual IRL Hanged Man of downtown Vancouver.
> 
> Also, yes, if I was going to have Mahanon in this story, I had to get him with his canon love interests because of course I did. I could honestly write a series of short stories based on the different DA ships in this goddamn fic. But anyway.
> 
> PROBABLY NO ONE CARES, BUT:
> 
> \- I am no longer in Smalltown Hell. Finished up the contract and am back in the city of decent coffee and overpriced living situations. Facing a possible promotion at the paper where I work and a deadline tomorrow that I am pointedly ignoring because I Am The Worst (TM). 
> 
> \- Had some personal drama that knocked me off-course for a little bit but slowly coming back around. Things that kept me going through that? You guys. And your comments. You're all awesome and wonderful and I do this for you.
> 
> \- I SAW THREE BEARS IN THE LAST WEEK OF ME WORKING IN SMALLTOWN HELL THEY WERE JUST WANDERING AROUND LIKE THEY OWNED THE PLACE WHICH THEY PROBABLY DID
> 
> \- Also had a customer say that my pasty white ass was "good representation" of Aboriginal Canadians because my (white!!!) character had braids in their hair and... liked plants... I mean I know not everyone is woke but oh my God??? Just because my hair is black does not mean I'm not white I am not good representation of anything OK I am the default and that is not good holy crap. 
> 
> \- Also also had a senior customer who complimented the stage manager for "letting the girls" join the show and "dance onstage with the boys" when we "probably have children at home so it's good for them to get out <3"
> 
> \- As you can imagine this was not the environment to try to explain the "actually I'm nonbinary and prefer they/them pronouns tbh" thing when we couldn't even get past the "wears a skirt so probably lives in the kitchen with three babies" concept
> 
> \- ANYWAY GLAD TO BE HOME HA HAAAAA


	15. The Cambie is a Dive 2: Into Darkness

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Slight warning on this chapter for People Being Douches(TM) and veering into discussion of some Heavy Things (that are touched on more in the next chapter). This is still a light-hearted comedy I swear, but it's written by me, and I can't write anything without stirring in a healthy amount of angst.

Mahanon does not reappear from within the pub, though about an hour later Garrett swears he catches sight of a certain trio climbing into a cab together - one tall and impeccably dressed, one quite small and topped with a mass of wild curls, and one who seems a little hesitant to try to fold his enormous frame into the back of a taxi. Before he can get a closer look, however, there's a hand on his arm tugging him backwards into the fray of the party.

"Your brother is making an utter mess of things, the poor dear," Isabela whispers to him. "He's only been here a few minutes, and he's completely frozen up. Do help him out."

"There's still beer floating around, yeah?" Garrett says, scanning the crowd with narrowed eyes. "He's usually a lot more fun with a pint in hand. Have you seen Fen, by the way? I've barely spoken to him since I got here."

"Playing cards with Varric," Isabela says, patting Garrett's arm. "Also, I made sure he was _aware_  of the possibilities an empty house might provide. Just for you!"

"I'm pretty sure at this point the entire party is _aware_ of that, thanks," Garrett says with a groan. "Did I mention we were taking things slow? I think I've mentioned before that we're taking things slow."

"Garrett, my dear, it's your third date. Given how long you two have been giving each other bedroom eyes, I'd say you've taken it slow enough. Mmm. He does smoulder _quite_  well, doesn't he? I bet he's a growler."

"Oh my God,  _Bela-_ "

" _Mr Garrett!_ "

Predictably, Merrill hugs Garrett the way she seems to hug anyone she holds affection for - a little like she's trying to tackle them into the ground and break their ribs on the way down. Luckily, because she is quite small, neither of these fates befall Garrett, though he's winded for the second time tonight as Merrill releases him and steps back. 

"Merrill, Carver," Garrett says, aiming for a helpful and jovial tone as he catches sight of his brother - beet red and looking ready for the Earth to swallow him whole. "How has the night been for you both?"

"Oh, well it's been quite lovely, actually! Very exciting. I think Carver's got some kind of a cold though. He's been having some trouble talking."

Garrett is not able to hold back his grin as he looks at Carver and says, "Has he, now?"

"He keeps tripping over words and coughing quite a lot," Merrill says, biting her lip, as Carver glares at Garrett behind her back and draws a finger across his throat. Garrett grins wider. "I'm actually very worried. I'll have to make him some tea when we get back to the dorms."

"Good to see Carver's got someone looking after him," Garrett says, as Carver buries his face in his hands. "He's got a bit of a weak constitution. Gets sick a lot."

"Does he?" says Merrill, as Carver grits out, "I do _not._ "

"Someone's sick?" says Isabela, appearing at Garrett's elbow with two pints in hand. "Best cure for that's a little drink. Alcohol kills bacteria, you know."

"Ooh, are these for us?" Merrill says, as Isabela presses a beer into her hands. "Thanks ever so- oh dear, it's got a bit of an odd smell to it, hasn't it?"

"You get used to it," say Isabela and Garrett in tandem.

Carver does not say a word as he receives his drink - instead, he chugs it back like a man dying of thirst and finishes the whole pint in one go. 

"You've been hanging out with the frat boys too much," Garrett says, shaking his head and trying very hard not to be visibly impressed.

"Jealous," says Carver, putting the empty glass aside (though his eyes do seem to lose focus for a brief moment, and he sways a little on his feet). "Um, Merrill, you were talking about- uh-"

"Wales?" supplies Garrett.

"Oh, probably," says Merrill, with a little laugh. "I must sound terribly homesick, but I'm not, really. It's very exciting being on the other side of the world - and you've got such incredible _scenery_  here! Those mountains just _loom_  over this city, don't they? Not in a bad way or anything. And everyone seems so _relaxed_  here. Could do without the smell, though."

"Well, we're about a block away from Victory Square, so that'll be the _greenery_  you're smelling, sweetheart," Isabela says. "That is one stereotype about the West Coast that holds true. Couple of our fine film friends lit up around the corner not to long ago."

"Lit what?" Merrill says, blinking.

" _Nothing_ ," says Carver. "Anyway, you don't have mountains in Wales?"

Merrill laughs and starts enthusiastically describing the "decently-sized" mountains of Wales, at which point Isabela nudges Garrett's elbow and disappears back into the crowd with a wink. Taking it as a cue, Garrett ambles away, leaving his brother behind to fend for himself.

It only takes a quick wander through the crowd - passing a group of Teamsters playing a mystifying drinking game that seems to involve a deck of cards, incredible hand-eye coordination, and no small amount of balance - to find Varric, Fenris, and a few film crew sitting around the end of a sticky table with cards in hand, a pile of loonies and toonies on the table between them all. 

"In Montréal, they call this game ' _Divine diaboliques_ ,'" Varric is saying, as the other partygoers listen with avid interest. Fenris's lips tighten like he's trying not to laugh, but he says nothing. "Still, I think it might be European in origin. I've also heard it called-"

"Bullshit," says a stout woman with short hair and more piercings than Garrett can count, slapping her cards down on the table. "You made it up, didn't you? Just so you could win."

"If that were the case," says Fenris quietly, laying his cards down in front of the stacks of change, "I would not be winning."

A groan echoes around the table and Varric laughs as Fenris scoops the money towards his end of the table, his lips curving into his catlike smirk.

"Well, I'm tapped," says one man, lifting his empty beer glass with a sad sigh. "Come on Nelle, I think they've got a jug at the other end. Good game, gents."

"Still say it was a hustle," grumbles the woman with a sharp glare at Varric, before getting to her feet and following her friend into the crowd. 

"And I thought Bela would be the one to watch tonight, yet here you two are grifting these wonderful, innocent lambs," Garrett says in mock disapproval, nearly drowned out by an irate director shouting " _Michael Bay can suck my cock, the talentless motherfucker_ " less than three feet away from him. "How much was in the pot, anyway?"

"I got the first round, a measly twenty bucks or so," Varric says, shaking his head. "No one wanted to bet anything higher than a toonie. Apparently some enterprising gambler cleaned them out at their last wrap party. But Little League here made a pretty decent chunk of change. That's gotta be bus money for you for at least a month, eh?"

"'Little League' is my newest moniker, apparently," says Fenris, carefully funnelling the change into his pockets. "I'm not sure it quite fits."

"My first New York Times Bestseller went through sixteen rounds of editing before I got it right," Varric says with a shrug. "You can't rush genius, kid."

"Evidently not."

"So you're enjoying the party?" Garrett asks, coming around to Fenris's side of the table and taking a seat on the bench next to him. 

"It has been nothing if not entertaining," Fenris says.

"Speaking of entertaining, this guy? I can't crack him," Varric says, pointing an accusing finger at Fenris. "I collect stories for a living, I'm good at getting things out of people, but man. Starting to think you're Jason Bourne or some shit."

"Or James Bond," Garrett says, covering his quick look to Fenris's expression with a smile. Knowing how Varric is about getting life stories from people, and knowing how Fenris is about his past...

But Fenris seems perfectly at ease, shrugging indifferently and saying, "Perhaps I just lead an incredibly boring life not worthy of any stories."

"Nah, it's a Jason Bourne case for sure," Varric says, leaning forward with a keen glance. "On the run from the FBI, government secrets in your head- an amnesia twist just to keep things interesting. Am I close?"

To anyone who doesn't spend a likely inordinate amount of time staring at Fenris's face, it would have been virtually unnoticeable. 

But Garrett, even with his head a little foggy from three tall glasses of shitty Cambie brew, sees it. The way Fenris freezes for the slightest fraction of a second, like time has stopped for him and no one else. Like a single frame caught in a film reel.

Then he adopts a playfully serious tone, a little deadpan, and says, "If I were to tell you, Varric, I would have to kill you."

" _Me?_  The guy who just helped you win thirty-two bucks and seventy-five cents? Perish the thought." Varric stands, salutes Garrett, and says, "My glass is a little dry too. You two behave yourselves."

"Unlikely," Fenris murmurs, very close to Garrett's ear.

Garrett turns his head to see Fenris gazing up at him, something mischievous and a little dangerous and incredibly heated in his eyes. As Garrett stares at him, completely at a loss for words and utterly trapped by that _look,_  he feels Fenris's hand come to rest on his thigh under the table. 

There's a bit of a question in Fenris's expression, one that Garrett is hoping the answer to might be "Yes, we _can_  make sweet, passionate love on this grimy pub table in front of Marian's coworkers," and he's a breath away from voicing this thought aloud when he hears a familiar voice bark " _Garrett!_ "

Garrett closes his eyes, curses under his breath, and looks around to see Marian leaning over the iron fence, looking vaguely pissed-off and utterly unconcerned with Garrett's love life, contrary to her statements earlier. Next to him, Fenris huffs an odd little mix of a sigh and a laugh, and moves his hand off Garrett's thigh. 

"I need someone with a beard and topping over six feet," Marian says, scowling. "Congrats, you've got the role."

"What are you talking about?" Garrett says, giving Fenris's shoulder a quick squeeze as he gets up from the table, closing the distance between himself and Marian.

"We've got a situation, and the people involved are too fucking wasted to know that they should be afraid of me because _all_  they can see is a pair of tits," Marian says, eyes hard. "Care to help a sister out?"

"Who's doing what?" Garrett says, all irritation with his twin evaporating. 

Marian offers a hand and helps him back over the fence, gesturing towards the cabs. "We've been getting the first wave of girls heading home into the cabs, but I've got a group of utter _shitbags_  from our crew and from the bar trying to pick off the drunkest ones. We've been managing, but it'd be easier if someone could step in and deescalate the situation. Someone who isn't... well, a woman." Marian grunts in clear frustration, and says, "I hate asking for this, but I'm about to break someone's nose."

"I know," Garrett says, striding forward. "Ri, you know you're the badass of the two of us."

"I know that, and you know that," Marian says bitterly. "But you're the one they're actually going to listen to."

Garrett winces.

At the curb where cabs have been stopping by to pick people up, there's a small crowd formed - a group of girls teetering a little on their heels, one of them supported by a friend of hers. Behind them, several men smoking and chatting, phones out. One man in particular seems to be getting aggressive with one of Marian's coworkers, who stands between him and another girl who shifts from foot to foot, looking uncomfortable. 

"She said she'd be coming home with me tonight, okay?" the guy is saying, shrugging with a slick smile. "I'm a gentleman, I'm not gonna do anything. We were just gonna hang out."

"She just told me she wants to go home," Marian's coworker says, hands on her hips and clearly refusing to budge. "So she's going home."

"It's okay, Ritts," the girl says, biting her lip. "I don't want to- to make a big deal, or anything-"

"See? It's all just a misunderstanding-"

"Alright!" says Garrett with false cheer, clapping his hands together as he approaches. "This is all looking _very_  tense, so let's all take a few steps back, shall we? And by "we" I mean "you," buddy."

The man in question blinks at him, distracted from his target just long enough for Marian to quietly swoop in and put an arm around the girl's shoulders, murmuring quietly to her as she guides her away to a nearby taxi. "Hey, nothing's happening here, man."

"Kinda looks like it," Garrett says. "You getting all up in some girl's space - anyone else think that's a little gross, or just me?"

"Not just you," Ritts mutters, folding her arms and shooting the man a poisonous glare. 

He scoffs. "Come on, Ritts, I get enough of the angry lesbian act from Marian, I don't need you starting."

Garrett doesn't get angry easily, and he's never too happy about confrontational situations. That's what Marian is for - kicking ass, taking names and all. 

But _fuck_  if he doesn't see red at that. 

"So, fun fact," Garrett says, a brittle grin in place as he takes the man by the arm and drags him away from Ritts a few steps, ignoring his sputtering protests. "That's my sister you were just talking shit about. I'm not gonna bother asking you to take it back, but I _will_  tell you that you're gonna want to leave pretty much immediately, yeah?"

The man snorts and tries to shove Garrett off, scowling as Garrett's grip on his arm stays firm. "Alright, big guy, I get you wanna look tough, but those guys over there are all buddies of mine."

"Are they?" Garrett says. He hauls the man over to the group in question, who've been watching the situation unfold with some amusement. "So, does this guy speak for all of you, then? You all have a habit of hanging around women like desperate vultures and insulting people's sisters?"

One man rolls his eyes and flicks his cigarette, looking embarrassed. "That's just Eddy when he's drunk, man. He gets fucking stupid."

"Hey, fuck you, man," Eddy whines, squirming in Garrett's grip.

"Well, sorry to say it, but he makes you all look like assholes," Garrett says, shoving his cargo towards the group. "If you were hoping to pick up some girls hanging around out here, he's blown it for you. I suggest you take out your trash and try not to come off like such creepy dipshits next time you're out. Leave these women alone, okay? They just want to go home."

"We weren't-" one man tries to say, but at Garrett's look, shakes his head and drops his cigarette, grinding it to ashes under his heel. "Fair enough. Eddy, get a fucking cab home. I'm going back in."

Garrett considers telling the guy that no, he's not going back in, because quite frankly he's pissed with everyone in front of him right now and he happens to care about some of the people back at the party, but... he can only extend his privilege so far.

So instead he puts on his best glower and keeps his arms folded, watching Eddy stumble off to a cab alone doing an incredibly convincing impression of a sulking toddler as the others file back into the Cambie, looking annoyed but not the faintest bit ashamed or apologetic. 

"I hope you're not looking for a "thank you" for being a decent human being."

Garrett turns to see Ritts glaring up at him, tense with embarrassment and irritation. He scrubs his hands over his face with a sigh, feeling like he's got a lot more in common with the dirt under his shoes right now than he did a few minutes ago. 

"I'm really, really not," Garrett says quietly. "If anything I'm sorry for white-knighting it. It was all I could think to do to help."

Ritts scowls. "We didn't _need_  your-"

"Yes we did, Ritts, don't be an ass," says Marian, sounding exhausted as she steps into the conversation. "I asked him over here, he's not trying to get into anyone's pants. Well. Not ours, anyway, his boyfriend's another matter entirely."

Garrett throws his hands in the air, staring up at the sky. "Everyone. _Everyone_  at this party, I swear to God. You and Bela are gonna take out a billboard next, aren't you?"

"Nah, wouldn't get it up in time- oh, fuck, I wish Bela were here for that one, she would have thought of something funny to say. Anyway." Marian turns to Ritts and says, "Ella's headed home, she's gonna text you when she gets in. I'm gonna have a word with the bouncer at the door to keep an eye on those fuckers, but I'll stay to make sure all the girls get home okay anyway."

"I'll stay with you," Ritts says fiercely. "But I'm gonna need a few more drinks first." 

She slips away and back towards the doors of the Cambie, leaving Marian and Garrett alone.

"I know it doesn't help, at all, but... I'm sorry?" Garrett tries, turning to his twin. 

She snorts. "It's not the first time I've been called an angry lesbian, Gare, given that I am both a lesbian and often angry. I'm cool with it. You did a good job looking threatening."

Garrett winces. "It's stupid."

"Yeah."

"Like, fuck, if you need me to punch someone-"

Marian snorts, and shoves Garrett's shoulder. " _I'm_  the one who throws the punches, kid."

"I'm _one minute_ younger than you!"

"Makes all the difference. Anyway, you save that punch you've got somewhere in that Care Bear, touchy-feely brain for someone who really deserves it, okay? I'm good for now."

"Care Bears don't have beards." 

"There's a first for everything." Marian glances towards the doors, and sighs. "And I've gotta go see a man about a douche patrol. Fantastic."

Garrett bites his lip. "Are you sure you don't want me to stay? I can look scary. Scarier! I'll work on it. I've been told I can be _very_  intimidating."

"Says the man whose voice climbs two octaves when faced with a _How to Train Your Dragon_  plushie. Thanks, but I'm good. And anyway," Marian grins suddenly, nodding at something over Garrett's shoulder. "You've got an empty house to get back to, yeah?"

Garrett turns to see Fenris climbing back over the iron fencing, a little less gracefully than before. Marian snorts as one of Fenris's shoes catch at the top, and Garrett dives forward to keep Fenris from face-planting into the concrete.

It takes a little maneuvering to free Fenris's foot from the fence, and he looks distinctly ruffled by the time Garrett's managed to get him upright again. Garrett's sympathetic, but also far too enchanted by the little wrinkle of annoyance above Fenris's nose to keep from grinning a little. "That was smooth."

"The fence is taller than it was earlier," Fenris mutters. 

"Someone should look into that," Garrett says seriously, rubbing his thumbs over Fenris's shoulders as comfortingly as he can even as he struggles to stifle his giggles. "How're you doing?"

"Phenomenally," Fenris says. "But I think I've had enough, ah, film experience for one night."

"Fair and understandable," Garrett says. He glances over his shoulder at Marian. "Um, you gonna be okay if-?"

"Don't make me sic Bela on you," Marian says, pointing to the cabs. "You go. We're fine here, I promise. Try to keep your boyfriend from eating the concrete between here and the taxi, yeah?"

"Will do," says Garrett, as Fenris grumbles, "The fence _grew._ "

Marian salutes them both, then turns to the bouncer, who seems to quail a little as she approaches. _Scary girl indeed._

"So I've got the voucher from Riri, and it covers twenty-five bucks," Garrett says to Fenris, putting an arm around Fenris's shoulders and steering him towards the cabs. Fenris leans into his side, even smiling a little, Garrett can't keep from smiling like an idiot as he continues. "That gets us back to Kirkwall, and I've got cash on me for the tip. Um," Garrett pauses, realizing that he's making assumptions despite his words to Isabela earlier, and that he's quite possibly being a douche because of it. "Unless you want to get home, which- I can totally score another voucher off of my sister, she's probably got like fifty-"

" _Hawke_ ," says Fenris firmly, stopping in his tracks and pulling Garrett around by the front of his shirt to face him. His eyes are enormous in the dim light, and earnest, his voice quiet as he says, "I don't want to go home."

Garrett swallows. 

There's an abrupt _beep_  of a car horn behind them that causes Garrett to jump with only a small squawk, worth it for the little laugh it draws from Fenris. Garrett glances over his shoulder to see a cab driver peering at them through an open window. "You getting in, or what?"

"Yep," says Garrett, nodding, taking Fenris by the hand and half-dragging him over to the taxi, while Fenris snorts and trips along behind him. "We are absolutely doing that, yessir."

-

The ride back to Kirkwall is... strange. 

It's a bizarre kind of quiet anticipatory limbo, and the semi-public space of the taxi cab makes the silence impossible to break. If they were a straight couple, Garrett thinks, they might have flirted. They might have been bolder in touches and whispers, in making the driver blush. Surely it's nothing the poor guy hasn't seen before - and hell, given how goddamn _gay_  Vancouver is, Garrett's sure they would have been safe to do so even given the current circumstances. Garrett bites back a laugh, thinking of the torment Bull and Dorian probably put their driver through, with sweet little Mahanon sandwiched in the middle. 

But he's not quite so bold, and while the mood is _there_ , it's still a little... new. Still not quite right. Not quite something he's confident about sharing with others, yet. 

The radio plays quietly in the cab, tinny and unremarkable, canned 90s ballads with an inordinate amount of Spanish guitar thrown in to embellish drum loops and synth strings. Garrett glances over at Fenris.

It's hard to read his expression in the dim strobe flashes of passing streetlights, but he catches glimpses - lips pressed thin, a slightly furrowed brow. There's something about his eyes that's... it's different. Garrett feels like he should know why it's different. Like there's something he's not reading from the details, a bigger picture that he's missing-

Fenris catches him looking. In the next flash of illumination, he's smiling. Just gently.

He stretches out a hand to the middle of the seat between them. Garrett takes it in his own. 

If the driver notices, he doesn't say a damn word about it.

-

Fenris bails out of the taxi the moment it rolls to a stop, leaving Garrett to settle up. Luckily between the voucher and the cash he's got on him it doesn't take very long, but Fenris is already waiting at the front door by the time Garrett manages to unfold himself from the cab's backseat. 

Fenris is frowning at the door like it's personally offended him as Garrett approaches, pulling his house keys from his back pocket. That odd tension from the cab is back in Fenris's face, in the set of his shoulders. 

Garrett doesn't want to curse anything, doesn't want to pry, but as he unlocks the door he adopts as casual a tone as he can and asks, "Hey, you okay?"

Fenris nods, not looking up, still frowning.

Garrett opens the door and ushers Fenris through, still a little concerned. "You just seem a little tense, is all. Sorry in advance for the mess- and the cats, actually, and the dog, she sometimes has a habit of-"

" _Jumping people,_ " is how Garrett was going to end that sentence, but he doesn't get the chance, as the moment the door closes behind him his arms are full with and his mouth thoroughly stolen by Fenris. 

He stumbles back with the force of Fenris's ( _extremely fucking welcome_ ) onslaught, his back hitting the door with a solid _thud_  as Fenris hauls him down by the front of his shirt to kiss him more thoroughly, a hand coming up to secure a grip on Garrett's hair, his teeth grazing Garrett's lower lip. He's up on his toes and pressing all of himself against Garrett like any space between them is too much, like they're both made up of magnets and the force of the pull between them is too strong to deny.

The shock of it wears off quickly, and once Garrett's brain catches up he wraps his arms tight around Fenris's slim frame, groaning as Fenris pushes up in Garrett's embrace to grind against him, his lips hungry and warm on Garrett's mouth. He leans back a little, releasing Garrett's hair as his quick fingers start making work of Garrett's jacket, trailing biting kisses down Garrett's neck that wring gasps from his throat as he lets his head fall back against the door. There's a perfect amount of pressure, a perfect sharpness to Fenris's attentions and hell, he might be a vampire or something but Garrett doesn't care. He's more than willing to go full _Twilight_  for this beautiful man currently ripping his jacket off and tossing it to the side.

Fenris breaks away from Garrett's neck long enough to mutter "so much fucking _plaid_ " as he moves on to Garrett's shirt, fumbling with the buttons. Garrett laughs and steals his hands back to help Fenris out, starting at the top as Fenris works his way up from the bottom. 

"You're a little clumsy today," Garrett teases, watching Fenris struggle with the buttons and thinking of how smoothly he works those coffee machines, the easy grace with which he hopped the fence at the Cambie when they'd first arrived. 

Fenris gives him a look, and takes care of the rest of the shirt with a sharp tug, popping the rest of the buttons. It's a testament to the hardiness of the fabric that only one button comes flying off, smacking against a far wall and rolling off to God knows where. 

"Okay," says Garrett stupidly, and it's honestly all he can do to get the words out because fuck if that wasn't one of the hottest things he's ever seen. 

Fenris smirks, and then he's on his toes again, taking Garrett's lip between his teeth as his hands start to roam over the bare skin of his chest and back. Garrett leans down to deepen the kiss, cupping Fenris's chin in his palm and finding the hem of Fenris's shirt with his other hand.

"Can I?" he murmurs against Fenris's lips.

Fenris snorts, as if the question is hardly worth asking, and steps away with a slight stumble, slipping out of his shirt and-

And Garrett's staring, which is rude, but he can't _not_  stare. Those tattoos, the ones that are part of a past Fenris can't talk about, they cascade over his chest and back, hardly an inch of smooth brown skin left unmarked. They're beautiful.

Beautiful, and unsettling, because by the way the lines of ink cascade down over Fenris's sharp hips and disappear into his black jeans, Garrett's guessing that _all_  of Fenris is similarly marked. And Garrett can't wrap his head around the idea of being covered head-to-toe in what Fenris has only ever referred to as a "bad memory."

He glances up, and Fenris is staring at him head-on, chin lifted in a slight challenge while his eyes speak of something far more vulnerable. 

"You're fucking gorgeous," is all Garrett can think to say, before closing the gap between them and pressing his lips to Fenris's mouth again, kissing him deep and sweet. 

It's overwhelming, feeling so much of Fenris's bare skin pressed against his own, the taste of Fenris's gasp and laugh as Garrett's hand wanders down to his beautifully tight ass, giving it a little squeeze. He runs his hand through Fenris's snowy hair, trails his lips down Fenris's neck, finds a place along Fenris's collarbone that makes him groan and nearly go limp in Garrett's arms.

Fenris's hands return to Garrett's chest, stroking over his ribs and stomach, and with a little laugh Fenris says, "You're a very hairy man, Hawke."

"It's a lumberjack thing," Garrett murmurs into Fenris's neck, grinning as this causes Fenris to squirm a little. "Hope it's alright."

"I like a man with texture," Fenris faux-purrs, and Garrett laughs outright. 

They manage to stumble back through the house, tripping out of shoes and over dogs and cats and cushions (Kitty and Pounce come to say hello, then retreat when they pick up on what's going on. Haunt watches with mild disgust from the top perch of a nearby cat tree, and does not approach.) The rest of Garrett's shirt comes off, and Fenris wastes no time in adding a few interesting marks to Garrett's chest with his lips and teeth, laughing at the surprised squawk that escapes Garrett's mouth as he slips his hands down the back of Garrett's pants, pulling him closer. 

"Fen," Garrett moans, breaking into a sharp gasp as Fenris's tongue laves over his nipple. "Fuck, _Fen_ -"

Fenris leans up for another kiss, and Garrett gladly gives it to him, would happily stand here in the living room kissing Fenris until the end of time.

(Or at least until Anders comes home and starts yelling at them for making out in the living room.)

"Should we-?" asks Garrett breathlessly, and Fenris cuts him off with a kiss, and a nod.

He guides Fenris down the back hall, taking quick breaks for kisses - Fenris half-climbing him in the kitchen doorway, Garrett pressing Fenris against the corridor wall and tracing his tongue over the pulse point under Fenris's chin - until they stumble into Garrett's room and thank _God_  he did the laundry yesterday, because there's actually floor space and the bed is somewhat made.

Even with the clean floor, Fenris manages to stumble a little on his way to the bed, and Garrett catches his arm with a laugh as he flicks the lights on. "You doing alright there?"

"Ugh, better without the spotlight," Fenris says, taking a seat on the edge of Garrett's bed and squinting up at him. 

"Not the best mood-lighting, huh?" Garrett says, dropping his keys on his desk and crossing over to his bed. He balances a knee on the mattress and slides a hand around the nape of Fenris's neck, kissing him, far from willing to break away too soon. 

When he does, he pulls back only a little, just enough to really _look_  at Fenris - his full lips swollen with kisses, his hair in disarray...

His eyes glassy and dazed, and while Garrett's confident that he's pretty good at this whole necking business... he's not that good. 

He thinks of Fenris's uncustomary clumsiness, his stumbling, and says, "On a scale of one to alcohol poisoning, how drunk are you?"

Fenris blinks at him, looking utterly thrown, then snorts. "Does it matter?"

He leans forward for a kiss, and Garrett allows it, feeling uneasy. 

But when Fenris breaks away, Garrett says, "A little."

Fenris frowns at him, and Garrett hastily adds, "Not cause I'm a teetotaller or anything, I mean- you've seen me. And it's adorable. You're adorable. But this- we shouldn't be doing this if you're drunk."

" _Garrett_ ," Fenris says, and hearing his first name on Fenris's lips... fuck, it _does_ things to him. "I want this. I do. And this can work, like this." He laughs a little, but it's a bitter sound, and adds, "You should really take advantage while you have the chance."

Garrett freezes, full-stop. "What?"

Fenris blinks, and it seems to take a moment for his mind to catch up with what he just said. He grimaces and shakes his head. "Ignore that. I'm drunk. Ignore it."

Fenris tries for another kiss, but though it breaks Garrett into at least five pieces to do so, he pulls away.

The look on Fenris's face at this is devastating, hurt and confusion and humiliation rolled into an expression that tears at Garrett's heart.

Then he watches as this look is carefully tucked away behind a blank expression, neutral and guarded, until finally Fenris looks away. 

"I'm sorry," he says quietly, getting to his feet. 

Garrett's hand is still on Fenris's arm, so he's able to catch him as he starts walking towards the door.

"No, I don't- please stay," Garrett says, standing and gently pulling Fenris back towards him. Fenris allows it limply, though he doesn't look at Garrett as he's turned to face him. "Please. It's late, and Transit is bullshit, and I just... really want you to stay. If that's okay."

Fenris looks up at Garrett, some of that guardedness falling away and replaced with honest confusion. "Why would you want me to stay if you won't-?"

Fenris bites back the rest of the question, his eyes dropping again, but Garrett can fill in the blanks. _Why would you want me to stay if you won't have sex with me?_

The question lands a little like a slap - not so much the words, but the genuine sentiment behind them. The idea that this is all Garrett wants from Fenris, all Fenris has to offer. 

_You should really take advantage while you have the chance._

Garrett wraps his arms around Fenris's bare shoulders and hugs him close, pressing his lips to the top of Fenris's head. Fenris stiffens in his arms, then relaxes, but he's still tense with confusion and it fucking _hurts_  to feel it. 

"I'm tipsy as shit, and you're drunk," Garrett says eventually, as Fenris tucks his face into the crook of Garrett's neck and breathes deep like he's looking for an anchor. Something to ground him. "Honestly neither of us are probably in the best shape for any kind of serious conversation, yeah? Or any conversation. Case in point, I'm rambling."

Fenris huffs a little laugh at that, but the tension is still there, and he doesn't lift his face from Garrett's shoulder. 

"I propose we both drink enormous glasses of water, then find some piles of blankets to roll up in and then let's not move for like, a hundred years. Does that sound good?"

Fenris doesn't respond for a while, a worrying while. Then, very slightly, he nods.

He doesn't say much else as Garrett gathers the water for them both and pulls out all the blankets he can find from the pile under his bed. Fenris sips his water carefully and is awfully pliable as Garrett ushers him into bed and pulls the covers up over him. 

Then, very quietly, Fenris says, "Your lizard is judging us."

Garrett glances over at Archie's tank to see the bearded dragon pressed up against the glass, staring out from the darkness of his terrarium with narrowed, beady eyes.

"It's past his bedtime," Garrett says with a scowl. "Archie, you're being a creep."

Archie blinks, and does not seem to care. 

Garrett looks back at Fenris, who's smiling a little, now. 

"Archie is a strange name for a lizard," Fenris says.

"Short for Archdemon," Garrett says, taking the glass of water from Fenris's hands and placing it on the bedside table. "There was this videogame that was hard as all hell to beat, but there were dragons involved so obviously I couldn't give up on it..."

Two minutes into the story of Marian, Carver, Anders, Bethany, and Aveline grouped around on the couch drinking beer and watching Garrett die multiple times over a three-hour stretch of gaming before realizing he'd accidentally switched the game to the Nightmare difficulty setting, Fenris's eyes drift close. Soon his breathing evens out into long, gentle sounds. 

Smiling, but still troubled, Garrett whispers "goodnight" to Fenris and gathers up the spare blankets. 

He'll be sleeping on the couch tonight. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *BANGS POTS AND PANS TOGETHER* THE FOLLOWING IS A PSA THAT IS NEAR AND VERY FUCKING DEAR TO MY HEART: DRUNK PEOPLE CAN'T CONSENT. LIKE AT ALL. 
> 
> But a lot of people react to alcohol very differently and so the signs of being flat-out wasted differ from person to person so ESPECIALLY IF YOU AND YOUR PARTNER ARE NEW TO EACH OTHER, pay!! attention!! Like hot damn protect your friends and protect the people you're with and don't make any assumptions okay? Okay. 
> 
> Slightly unfun fact, the incident with the douches waiting around to drag home drunk girls is based on a real incident that I had to deal with at a film party and it was Not Fun. All I could think of while it was happening, while I was running around trying to argue, flirt, and threaten these guys into backing off so we could get the girls to safety, was that any of the guys not directly involved but standing around watching could have ended it. They could have stepped forward and de-escalated the situation, told these guys to cut it out, helped us.
> 
> But they didn't. It was girls and, in my case, an incredibly girl-shaped person who were trying to protect other girls, not being taken seriously because we looked like girls. It's not something I'm likely to forget any time soon. 
> 
> BUUUUTTTTT ON A SLIGHTLY LESS DOUR NOTE, as always, I live for the comments and kudos. The support I get from you guys is amazing and I literally cannot explain how much it's appreciated. I really hope you're enjoying the story. Every single one of you are wonderful and awesome, and I can't thank you enough.


	16. So, About Last Night...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short chapter, but a heavy one. Took me several tries to approach it tbh. Tags on this chapter for mentions of- well, if you know anything about Fenris's past, nothing that doesn't happen outside of canon. It's more alluded to than anything else, but keep yourselves safe.

Garrett wakes up to an enormous dog fast asleep on his knees, a ragged blanket draped over his bare chest, and a passive-aggressive cat kneading his neck with claws.

"Damn it, Haunt," Garrett mutters, brushing Anders' little psychopath away with an irritated grunt. Haunt drops to the floor with a growl and stalks away as Garrett sits up, a hand to his head. He's not hungover - he definitely didn't drink enough for that. But sleeping on the couch has left his back knotted up in at least five places, and the tension has crawled up the back of his neck to coil into a dull headache pounding at his temples. 

"I'm too old for this shit," he says to Kitty, who flicks an ear in his direction but otherwise does not move. "Yeah, I saw that, I know you're awake. Get off."

Kitty whines and hugs closer to his thighs, cracking open amber eyes to give Garrett a downright tragic look. Unsympathetic, Garrett knees her gently in the stomach a few times until she finally lumbers off the couch, huffing a loud sigh. 

It takes a few moments of stretching for Garrett to regain feeling in his legs, and even then the only feeling he gets is " _ow._ " Wincing, he picks his phone up off the side table and checks the time. 

_6:30 a.m._

"Fucking hell," Garrett groans, putting his face in his hands. This pulls on cramped muscles, and he absently entertains a desperate daydream involving a large mug of tea and a deep-muscle massage. Preferably administered by someone with smooth, dry hands, working hands, with white tattoos-

He stops short in his imaginings. _Fenris._

He pushes himself up to his feet and stumbles off to the kitchen.

He doesn't know what his plan is, exactly, so as he pours a glass of water and gets the kettle going for tea, he thinks about what he _does_  know. What he knows, is that Fenris is a runner. What he knows, is that he tripped over a sore spot last night with Fenris. What he knows, is that they'll have to talk about that. 

What he doesn't know, is what Fenris will do when he wakes up. 

He pulls a small tray off the top of the fridge and loads it up with two mugs of tea, water, and a protein bar he finds on the counter that probably belongs to Anders. Balancing all this, he tucks his phone in the waistband of his boxers (having kicked off his jeans before falling asleep the night before - hours ago, really) and makes his way down the hall to his room.

He's quiet as he opens the door, quiet as he steps carefully over the carpet towards the bed. At first, he doesn't see much of Fenris - just a tuft of white hair and a small lump in the blankets, curled up tight and with the covers all bunched and wrapped up around him. As he sets the tray on the bedside table, however, he looks down to see Fenris's face tucked under the overhang of blankets, a single hand gripping the fabric tight in his grasp as he lies there, frowning in his sleep.

Garrett... _looks_ at Fenris. Looks for the things he knows he's been trying to ignore. 

There's a scar in Fenris's right brow, a bump in his nose that suggests it might have been broken, once. The angle of Fenris's face shows his left ear, and Garrett sees what Anders was talking about - the cartilage is oddly misshapen in the middle, and there are two fine white scars in the distorted flesh that seem almost surgical. His hand, clutching the blankets, is scarred as well, though the tattoos do a good job of hiding it. It's the knuckles mostly, the skin there raised and thickened, some of his fingers set a little crookedly in the bone.

Garrett has no idea who this man is. The thought cuts a little, though it's something he's been very aware of since they met.

_Do I really love him? Or am I just fascinated by him, the idea of him?_

He thinks about Fenris's low laugh, his dry humour, intelligence, and quick wit. He thinks about Fenris's secrecy, the simmering temper Garrett's only seen flashes of, the fact that after over two months of knowing him, Garrett doesn't know Fenris's best friend's name. 

He doesn't care, _damn it,_  he doesn't care if it makes him a complete fucking idiot for not giving a shit. He still wants this, wants Fenris, doesn't seem to know how _not_  to want him. And he doesn't know what he'll do if Fenris decides to run. 

He looks back up from Fenris's hand to his face, only to see a pair of brilliant green eyes staring back at him from the shadows of the blankets. 

"Sweet fuck," Garrett says, startling back a little. "Sorry, I swear I wasn't just sitting here like a creep all night. Sorry. Um... how are you feeling?"

Fenris blinks a few times, narrows his eyes, and emerges from under the covers, sitting up slowly with a deep wince. "My liver is shouting at me."

"Been there," Garrett says sympathetically, picking up the mug of tea and offering it to Fenris. "Bethany gets this shit from God knows where, but it's always worked for me. Green tea with... something, I don't know, but it actually tastes good, which is more than I can say for a lot of hangover cures."

Fenris takes the tea with a nod of thanks, sniffing it a little warily. The blankets slip down his bare chest, and he colours a little as he pulls the covers up over himself again, mouth thin.

"Here," Garrett says, crossing the room and searching through his drawers until he finds a shirt - plaid, predictably, but it's soft cotton. He offers it to Fenris, who just looks at him. "You seem, um, cold?"

_You seem uncomfortable,_  is what Garrett means, but that... that might be opening the door to a conversation they're not ready for yet.

Fenris stares a moment longer, then reaches up and takes the shirt.

Garrett perches on the edge of the bed as Fenris puts the tea aside and pulls the shirt on, not bothering with the buttons. Under different circumstances, this might have been a perfect morning - Fenris in his bed, wearing his shirt (which is adorably big on him), his hair sleep-tousled and the two of them drinking tea together. 

Under these circumstances, however... there's a tangible fragility in the air between them. A careful, spun-glass silence neither of them seem willing to break.

Fenris takes his tea in his hands, and sips, and says nothing. Garrett picks another mug off the tray, burning his knuckles on the hot ceramic as he adjusts the cup in his grasp, and says nothing.

After some minutes pass this way, Garrett asks, "Are you okay?"

Fenris cringes back, and Garrett instantly regrets asking. "I'm fine." Stiffly, he adds, "I apologize for my behaviour last night."

"What?" Garrett frowns. "What are you talking about?"

"I came on too strong," Fenris says, though the way he says it, it's almost like a question. Like he's looking for Garrett to confirm his guilt. "I- I wasn't in control. It must have been embarrassing to deal with-"

"Fenris, Fen, wait," Garrett says, holding up a hand. "That's not- you didn't do anything wrong. It wasn't like that at all, I- believe me, I was more than happy with how things were going. Like, holy shit. And if you're worried about being drunk, fuck, we all do that sometimes. Or a lot. You haven't seen me when I'm wasted yet and _believe_  me, that's top-notch embarrassing for everyone involved."

Fenris shakes his head and stares into his tea, lips pressed tight together. 

Garrett weighs his words a moment, then says, "All that happened was that you were- or, well, I _felt_  like you were too drunk to consent. I didn't want to hurt you."

Fenris closes his eyes, his grip on his mug tightening, then he says, "I- I can't do this."

It feels like being kicked in the stomach, hearing those words, but Garrett bites back his panic and says, "Do what?"

" _This_ ," Fenris says, gesturing at the space between them. His eyes are still lowered as he drops his mug back on the tray, tea sloshing up the sides from the rough use. "This, us- I'm sorry, Garrett, I thought- I thought I could. I thought I could give you what you want, but-"

" _Fenris_ ," Garrett says, his voice firmer than he thought it would be, with all the emotions swirling in his mind and chest right now. His tone seems to freeze Fenris in place as he looks up at Garrett, eyes wide. "What is it that you think I want?"

Fenris visibly struggles with himself for a moment, then looks away with a curse. "I honestly don't know. I wanted- fuck, Garrett, I can't begin to understand why you've treated me the way you have, but- you make me feel normal. Like I could be- like _we_  could be normal. And I wanted to give you that. But I _can't_."

"You don't owe me anything," Garrett says. "And you definitely don't owe me anything you don't want to give."

"You're not understanding," Fenris says bitterly. "It's not a matter of want, I- there are things I just can't-"

He closes his eyes again, shaking his head.

"Let's make this easier," Garrett says, swallowing hard, _knowing_  how close he is to fucking everything up, knowing that every word counts. "Fenris, do you want to be with me? In whatever form that takes for you, that you're comfortable with, is that what you _want?_ "

"It's not that simple," Fenris says dully. 

"Right at the heart of it? Yes, it is," Garrett says. " _Is that what you want?_ "

Fenris pulls his knees up to his chest, and says nothing, eyes closed still.

Then, carefully, he nods.

Garrett releases the breath he wasn't aware he was holding, and says, "Okay then. Fen, I want to be with you, in whatever form that takes for you, that you're comfortable with. Is that alright?"

"It isn't fair," Fenris mutters, his eyes falling open again. "And I don't think I understand what it is that you want from me. I thought... I thought I could at least-"

His jaw clenches, and he stops mid-sentence. 

Garrett takes a long sip of his tea - a nervous gulp, really - and thinks. Thinks very fucking hard. 

"I want you to smile when you feel like smiling," Garrett says slowly. "And I want you to laugh at my jokes - or not, if they're bad jokes, which they will be nine times out of ten. But when you don't laugh, you kind of smirk at me like I'm an idiot, and that's just as good. I want you to text me when you see something you think I'd like, or when you have a crazy customer at work who thinks you're Jesus. I want to hold your hand, a lot, but just being around you is okay too. I want a lot of other things besides, but right down at the pile of things I want and hope you want too, I just want to be some part of what you're building your life into, wherever I fit into that. _You make me happy_ , Fenris. The only other thing I care about more than that, is that I can make you happy too."

It's a long speech. It's kind of a stupid speech. But it's all Garrett has.

Fenris is staring at him outright, lips parted slightly, eyes wide. He opens his mouth, and closes it. Tries again.

"You don't know who I am," Fenris says eventually, sounding more nonplussed than anything else. "You don't know anything about me, or- or what I've done."

"I don't care," Garrett says. "If you need to tell me anything, I'm more than willing to listen. If you want to leave it all in the past - if you're able to do that - then I'll help however I can. But I've told you before - I want to be a part of your future, if you'll have me in it. Your past is yours, and you sure as fuck don't owe me that."

Fenris is still looking at Garrett like he's grown a second head, but his voice is soft when he says, "You don't know what you're offering me."

"I don't know a lot of things," Garrett says. "But it's your choice, Fen. You're always going to have a choice. And when we hit a roadblock, or we trip on something shitty, then we work through it. You don't have to tell me anything you don't want to, but I'll be here, and we can _work_  on it. Is that what you want?"

It's another long silence, a million unsaid things hanging heavy in the space between them.

Then Fenris says, "Yes."

Garrett nods, and says, "Okay." He lets a moment pass, then asks, "Can I hug you?"

Fenris quirks a little smile at that and says, "Yes."

Garrett puts his half-empty mug down and slides up the bed, pulling Fenris into his arms. Fenris goes easily, curling in close and tucking his head under Garrett's chin, a hand on his bare chest.

"You're still very hairy," Fenris says quietly.

Garrett grins, relief coursing through him with Fenris so close now, not running. Safe in his arms, and _wanting_  to be there. "It's part of my charm."

"Hmm," Fenris murmurs, but Garrett can hear the smile in his voice.

They stay like that awhile. Then Garrett rearranges things so they're both under the covers, propped up by pillows, Fenris held close against him as they're left to the silence, lost in their own thoughts.

Eventually Fenris says, slowly, "There was... someone else. For quite a long time, until- just over two years ago, now."

Garrett frowns. "You don't have to-"

"I know," Fenris says firmly. He breathes, and says, "I can't- I can't tell you everything. Not yet. But when it came to..." He swallows. "Last night, you said I was too drunk to- to consent. Two years ago, I wouldn't have understood what that meant. It was never a matter of choice. I was never _given_ a choice. Do you understand?"

Garrett closes his eyes. He does. And it confirms some suspicions he's had but... never wanted to think on for too long. "I'm so sorry, Fenris."

Fenris huffs out a harsh laugh, and says, "It was the least of my worries at the time. But the memories linger, ironically."

"Ironically?" Garrett asks.

Fenris is silent. Then, he says, "I don't remember my life from before I was seventeen years old."

Garrett sits up, pulling back enough to look Fenris in the eyes, aware that his shock is probably writ large across his face and utterly unable to help it. "You have amnesia?"

"So I'm told," Fenris says dully. "It isn't all gone, there are- flashes, I suppose. Some general knowledge - where I'm from, who my family was, a few places I've lived. But the details are nearly impossible to recall. And after that, there was only... _him_ , and his accounting of things."

Garrett takes Fenris's face in his hands, rubbing a thumb over his cheek, desperately trying to find something to _say_. "How-?"

"A long story, and one for another time," Fenris says, putting his hand over Garrett's, lacing their fingers together. "That is- that is some of it, at least. One day... if you're willing to listen, that is, but- perhaps it's time I trust someone else with the story. With the weight of it. If that's alright."

"Yes," Garrett says, guiding Fenris back into his arms to hug him tight again, stroking his hand through his hair. "Yes, it is."

They sink back down into the pillows together, and though it may be Garrett's imagination, Fenris seems more... relaxed, now. Some of that constant tension in how he holds himself falling away.

"We never have to have sex if you're not comfortable with it, by the way," Garrett says. "I don't care-"

" _I_ do," Fenris says, something low and sharp in his voice as he says it. "I may not ever achieve "normal," but- I want that. With you. I want to be able to have that. And I'll be _damned_  if I let that bastard take that away from me."

There's that temper, Garrett hears, simmering away in Fenris's voice. Knowing some of the context, now, Garrett can't help but feel more than a bit of it himself. _No wonder he nearly decked Cavril for trying to drag me off to his cab that night. Fuck, Fenris._

"Then we'll work on it," Garrett says, impressed by how level his voice is. His anger on Fenris's behalf isn't Fenris's to bear, after all. _You won't ever have to comfort me for what's been done to you. I promise._  "But it's not the endgame for me, okay? If it takes us years-"

"It had better not take us years," Fenris mutters. "I have bad memories, Hawke, but I'm not _dead_. You're a very handsome man. It's frustrating."

Garrett grins broadly at that, pressing a kiss to Fenris's hair. "I'm irresistible, huh?"

Fenris grumbles something, possibly in another language, and tucks in closer to Garrett's side, burying his face in his shoulder.

Garrett rubs Fenris's back in long strokes, over the worn cotton of his shirt, and says, "I'm here, Fen. I'll be here as long as you'll have me."

Fenris's fist uncurls against Garrett's bare chest, scarred hand and crooked fingers settling over Garrett's heart. "I want that."

 

-

 

**To:**   **GH**

I was not kidnapped by aliens on my way home. 

 

**To: GH**

And thank you. For everything. 

 

**From: GH**

*it happens more than you think*

 

**From: GH**

and you're more than welcome. when are you free next? I'll need that shirt back after all and idk, I'd like to see you. have I mentioned I like seeing you?

 

**To: GH**

Once or twice. I'm free Thursday.

 

**To: GH**

And you're not getting your shirt back. 

 

-

 

**From: SV**

Are you alright? I haven't heard from you since last night. Did you get home okay?

 

**To: SV**

I'm fine. You worry too much. I spent the night at his house.

 

**To: SV**

Not the way it sounds. You'd like him, he's very... honourable.

 

**From: SV**

I worry a perfectly reasonable amount. Am I ever going to meet this mystery man?

 

**To: SV**

Perhaps. It's getting easier. 

 

**From: SV**

I told you it would. For the record, I'm really proud of you.

 

**To: SV**

You sound like a mother waving her child off to kindergarten. Please stop. 

 

**From: SV**

Never. I'll be dropping by later with dinner.

 

**To: SV**

I'll have the wine ready.

 

**From: SV**

...I don't drink

 

**To: SV**

Who said any of it is for you?

 

**From: SV**

Sigh.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HIDEY HO IT'S NOTES TIME
> 
> \- The ear thing I'm referring to that Fenris has is unfortunately named "Cauliflower Ear," and it's something a lot of professional fighters get (or people who fight unprofessionally... hmm). It's caused by blunt force trauma to the ear and it can get pretty nasty. Fenris has an extremely mild case of it, and the two scars are from lancing the injury to keep the ear from getting permanently deformed. A doctor would lance it with a needle. That's not how Fenris did it. All of this of course is subject to lack of firsthand knowledge and artistic liberties but there ya go v(^-^)v
> 
> \- This fic is!!! Getting long enough for me to start worrying about continuity errors!!! Holy shit!! I caught one in the last chapter that I'm now gonna go fix but hot damn yo. Thank you guys so much because really this shit is still rolling because of all y'all. 
> 
> \- wHo WaS tExTiNg FeNrIs In ThAt LaSt TeXt CoNvO? iT iS a MyStErY. (A pretty goshdarn easy one to figure out but if you do you can say "I FIGURED IT OUT" in the comments below but please keep the name under wraps for some level of suspense... suspense in this, a comedy...)
> 
> \- Honestly I kind of consider this chapter to be the end of "Part I" if I had this in parts so eyy, we made it to the end of Part I, look at that!! Next chapter is gonna skip ahead a little and delve a bit more into the Inquisition storyline (heh) but worry not, I know what y'all are here for. The rating's gonna go up some point soon <3 
> 
> and on that note....
> 
> \- CW on this note for sexual assault talk but: THERE IS NO RIGHT WAY TO RECOVER FROM TRAUMA, OKAY FRIENDS? Some people who experience horrible shit like that never want to go near it again, some people jump right back in. Fenris's attitude is his own, but I don't want it to be taken as like... idk, anyone thinking I think that's how everyone feels? I don't know if I'm making sense here. I just know that a lot of people use characters to help reflect and cope with their own traumas (ha ha me) so keeping that in mind I just want to make sure no harmful messages are coming out of my shit.
> 
>  
> 
> I love you all and I hope this chapter delivered for you <3 you're all the best and I'm so glad there are people on this little longfic ride with me, makes it WAY more fun!
> 
> P.S. My heart for art of Fenris drowning in Garrett's plaid shirt tbh. I should really learn how to draw.


	17. Flangst

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's 5 AM and I'm making bad life choices again. Chapter contains angst and fluff. Fluffy angst. Flangst.
> 
> That's a good chapter title actually I'm using it. 
> 
> ENJOY
> 
> EDIT: OMG MORE FANART AGAIN PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE GO TO MUMBLINGELF ON TUMBLR AND GIVE HER ALL THE LOVE <3 you can find the piece shown at the end of the chapter at http://mumblingelf.tumblr.com/post/173063354124/mumblingelf-i-wasnt-lying-when-i-said for your reblogging pleasure

INT. PRISON CELL - NIGHT

TREVELYAN awakens slowly - he is clearly disoriented, confused. He lifts his hands to find them manacled and chained to the floor. He notes his surroundings carefully: there are four GUARDS at the door, swords drawn, ready to strike if they need to.

The MARK in his left hand FLARES. Trevelyan gasps in pain. 

The DOOR OPENS. Enter the SEEKER and the LEFT HAND.

SEEKER

(coldly)

Tell me why we shouldn't kill you now. The Conclave is destroyed. Everyone who attended is dead... except for you.

 

Trevelyan is shocked by her words. Pieces together his imprisonment, the guards, the chains...

 

TREVELYAN

You think I'm responsible?

 

SEEKER

Explain _this._

The Seeker lifts Trevelyan's chained hands, indicating the MARK, which SPARKS.

 

TREVELYAN

I can't.

 

SEEKER

What do you mean, you can't?

 

TREVELYAN

I don't know what that is or how it got there.

 

SEEKER

(outraged)

You're lying!

 

The Seeker grabs Trevelyan roughly by the front of his shirt, only to be pulled away by the Left Hand. She is also upset, but hers is a colder fury than the Seeker's... more clinical. 

 

LEFT HAND

We need him.

 

A beat as everyone collects themselves, then:

 

TREVELYAN

(stoically)

So what happens now?

 

The Left Hand and the Seeker look to one another. By silent agreement, the Left Hand takes over the interrogation. 

 

LEFT HAND

Do you remember what happened? How this began?

 

TREVELYAN

I remember running. Things were chasing me. And then... a woman...

 

LEFT HAND

(alarmed)

A woman?

 

TREVELYAN

She reached out to me, but then...

 

He trails off, clearly still trying to put the pieces together himself. The Seeker and the Left Hand trade another weighted look.

 

SEEKER

Go to the forward camp. I will take him to the rift.

 

The Left Hand obeys, and EXITS.

Trevelyan is less than satisfied, and is still desperate for answers as the Seeker helps him to his feet and undoes the manacles, tying his hands again with ROPE.

 

TREVELYAN

What _did_  happen?

 

CASSANDRA

It will be easier to show you.

 

The guards part for them as they EXIT together.

 

END SCENE

 

"Well, it's certainly dramatic."

Marian flips a page in the sides to the next scene on the schedule - "Trevelyan" exploring the holding cells later in the story. It's an easy day in the studio for cast and crew alike, and a good way to end the first week of production.

_And there might still be a little sunlight left when I get out of here, so I can..._

She closes her eyes. Best not to think about that yet. 

"Is Alaine still on the phone with that reporter?" Marian asks, lifting her gaze to Bodahn - her extremely eager OPA, who passed her the newest sides moments ago. 

"She is," Bodahn says with a nod. "Should I leave her a note letting her know you want to speak with her?"

"Her office is like, two steps away from mine," Marian says blandly. "I think I can manage. Could you give the catering guys a call and ask them how long it takes to microwave some fucking soup?"

"I'll politely inquire as to why lunch is late again," Bodahn says, nodding again, only - fuck, it's a bow, really. The man is bowing at her. 

"Please," Marian says, getting to her feet. "I'm gonna listen in for a bit. Let me know what the caterers say - for what we're paying them, you'd think they could at least show up on time."

Bodahn bows - _bows_ \- and scurries off. 

Marian picks up her phone from the table and checks her texts as she leaves her office, tapping through them with a short sigh. 

 

**From: M!Hawke**

I know u hate it when I ask but I'm ur brother and I'm gonna ask... u doing okay? 

 

**From: BethyBoo**

Mom says hello, and she's looking forward to seeing you tomorrow for dinner. She's wondering if you're bringing Bela? She's doing really good this time, we visited him around noon and it was... okay. I gave her a hug from you. 

 

**From: The Bae**

there's a bottle of honey jack and a bag of those weird chocolate bean niblets or whatever waiting for you at home. don't kill anyone I wouldn't kill <3

 

**From: Asshole Agent #4**

The accommodation your production has provided is NOT!!! suitable for my client's needs. We expected a FAR BIGGER suite than was provided. Please respond ASAP so we might address this ISSUE.

 

**From: Turkey**

I know mahanon's spying on me for your entertainment he's not exactly subtle. make him stop.

 

**From: Twigs**

I think your brother's catching on to us.

 

Marian snorts at that last one and sets to typing as she leans back against the wall outside Alaine's office.

 

**To: Twigs**

Espionage isn't so much your forté, huh?

 

**From: Twigs**

When sandwiches came around your brother tried talking to Merrill and turned a shade of red I've never seen before. I tried to take a picture. 

 

**To: Twigs**

The dedication, at least, is more than appreciated. Anything I should know about happening on set?

 

**From: Twigs**

A certain principal actor has been torturing crafty. Insists no one can make tea right... ugh.

 

**To: Twigs**

Ugh?

 

**From: Twigs**

Please please please don't take this as me being a whingey bastard, but... well, he's decided that I'm the only person suitable for bringing him tea. The ADs didn't want to deal with the whining so, I'm the tea boy now.

 

Marian feels her lips tighten into a grimace.

Behind her, she catches snippets of Alaine's conversation with the reporter, taking a moment to distract herself from her annoyance by listening in. 

"...it's a risk, yes, transforming Harel's work into a show. He leaves so much in the book up to interpretation, letting the story move through sort of nameless, faceless figures. It's incredible how he does it, letting the reader fill in the blanks. The series is going to take a more classic approach to the story. This is our interpretation, and our way of translating the heart of the book into a visual medium. I'm hoping fans will see this less as a direct adaptation and more of a series inspired by Harel's incredible work - though we will be following the events and plot points of the story very closely, as well as dialogue..."

It's nothing Marian hasn't heard before. She returns to her texts. 

 

**To: Twigs**

Jackass. You're the on-set key, aren't you? Next in line for TAD if our current guy washes out, which tbh it's looking pretty likely that he will. How often are you being sent off to make Pheus some fucking tea?

 

**From: Twigs**

It's fine, honestly. I mean, it's annoying, but it's what I'm here for. 

 

**To: Twigs**

No, it's not. We pay his personal assistant to take care of that shit. Did Clarel quit or something?

 

**From: Twigs**

No, and she's a complete sweetheart. She's just usually busy with other things. I think he just... likes making me get tea for him. 

 

**To: Twigs**

Is it like a weird power thing? Did you two meet in England or some shit? BBC's only got like three actors anyway.

 

**From: Twigs**

Ha ha, and not to my knowledge. If he knows who I am in terms of family connections, he hasn't said. It's honestly not a big deal, if the man wants tea, I can make tea.

 

**From: Twigs**

Please for the love of all that is holy do not tell my cousin.

 

**To: Twigs**

I'm mostly concerned that there's a real chance we're gonna be working with a complete jackass of a lead for the show's run. And as tempted as I am to watch that lady go full ham on this guy's ass for being a dick, I won't.

 

**From: Twigs**

Thank you, and sorry, and things are happening and I have to go. If I manage to get that photo of Carver I'll send it to you ASAP.

 

**To: Twigs**

You'd better. And... I mean, all torture aside, but keep an eye on him for me today, yeah? It's not his favourite day of the year.

 

**From: Twigs**

Of course. And I'm sorry, it can't be easy for you either.

 

**To: Twigs**

Thanks kid. Don't let that asshole bully you too much. I give you full permission to dump salt in his tea if he gets uppity.

 

**From: Twigs**

I'll bear that in mind.

 

-

Garrett is of two minds about stopping into Hightown after his classes, but the need for caffeine and to hear Fenris's voice wins out in the end.

Marian hasn't replied to his text, but he didn't really expect her to. They have their own ways of dealing with today, after all. It's usually him or Bethany who takes care of their mother on this shitty anniversary, and due to his schedule, that task has fallen to his little sister this time. She sends him updates throughout the day, and he sends her the most supportive texts he can in return, trying not to wince every time his phone buzzes. 

He's stowing his phone after responding to one of these texts as he pushes through the door to Hightown, feeling the tightness around his brows easing a little at the sight of Fenris working behind the counter. 

The past month and a half - fuck, nearly two months now - has been somewhat of a dream come true, for Garrett. There have been coffee dates and dinners, walks around the city, long talks on park benches late into the twilight hours. He's shown Fenris around on campus at SFU, talking about the hundreds of films and TV shows filmed there, lying back on the grassy hills to share coffee and pastries from the Renaissance Café ("My coffee is better," Fenris said after taking a sip, and Garrett was more than inclined to agree). They've walked the length of False Creek to English Bay, toured Robson Street, even spent an afternoon at the Vancouver Art Gallery and ducking between clusters of quiet hipsters, strolling retirees, and school groups. He's even almost managed to convince Fenris to join him on a trip to the aquarium ("And I won't be required to _eat_  the fish?" "They'd probably prefer it if you didn't, babe." "I'll think about it.")

There are still a million things Garrett doesn't know about Fenris. There are still walls that spring up between them, shadows of past hurts darkening Fenris's eyes from time to time.

But he can't help but notice that Fenris seems... easier around him, somehow. Less guarded. There's an openness that wasn't there before Fenris told him a little of his past relationship. 

There's a sense of trust, that wasn't there before. It's something Garrett feels hyperaware of, determined not to break it. Determined to defend it. 

He thinks of this a little guiltily as Fenris catches sight of him and smiles, soft and sincere, instantly moving to the machines to make Garrett's coffee even as Garrett approaches the front counter and pulls out his wallet, as he always does. 

"Put that away," Fenris says, without a single glance at Garrett's wallet. "How are you?"

Garrett considers telling Fenris. He considers telling him what today is, where he's going, why right now all he really wants is to pull Fenris out from behind the counter and hold him tight. Why it hurts.

Instead, he shrugs and slips a five dollar bill into the tip jar, saying, "Better for seeing you. I like the V-neck."

Fenris glances down and snorts - the t-shirt is a little big on Fenris, as a lot of his clothes are, and the plunge of the neckline reveals his collarbones and a little of his smooth chest, white tattoos spiralling over nut-brown skin. "It's a hot day."

"Sure is," Garrett says, with a suggestive wiggle of his eyebrows.

Fenris gives him a withering look, but the corner of his mouth is quirked up in a smirk. "Clever. I'm sure your students appreciate your fine way with words."

"They appreciate me taking seminar classes outside so we can discuss things without dying of heatstroke," Garrett says, shaking his head. "The AC's dead in one of my classrooms. It gets stuffy as fuck in there, and I'm pretty sure one of my students is foregoing deodorant as a political statement."

"That's chemical warfare," Fenris says, adding a perfect swirl of whipped cream to the top of Garrett's coffee. "No matter the movement, that's a warcrime, is it not?"

"I'll bring it up next class," Garrett says. 

Fenris passes the drink to Garrett, who takes the opportunity to snag Fenris's hand as well as his drink. Fenris rolls his eyes, but allows Garrett to link their fingers together, rubbing the pad of his thumb over Fenris's hand.

"Thank you," Garrett says, his voice soft.

Fenris looks up at him, his smile fading as he searches Garrett's eyes, brows closing in a frown as he reads something there he doesn't seem to like. 

"Are you alright?" Fenris asks quietly. 

Garrett winces. 

It just doesn't seem fair, laying this at Fenris's feet. Even if he wanted to, he doesn't know if he can find the words. At least not today. 

"Long day," he says eventually. He offers Fenris a breezy smile, and Fenris smiles back at him, but the smile is confused and his eyes are unconvinced. "Seeing you made it better."

"Because I give you free coffee," Fenris says. 

"Exactly," says Garrett. 

He gives Fenris's hand a little squeeze, intending to let go, only to be surprised by Fenris tightening his grip and pulling him closer. Before he can react to this, Fenris takes him by the chin and draws him down across the counter to kiss him. 

It's a sweet kiss, firm but thorough, soft lips pressed tight against Garrett's and tasting a little like black coffee and mint chapstick. Garrett melts into it, warmed by Fenris's touch, the jagged edges of his thoughts smoothed over a little by this gentle contact.

A customer wolf-whistles from the other side of the café, and the moment is effectively murdered. 

"In case you needed it," Fenris says as he breaks away, casting an irritated look in the cat-caller's direction.

"I did," Garrett says. Then, because he's an asshole, he adds, "It was almost as good as the free coffee."

Fenris shoves him, but he's smiling again, and it's worth it. 

-

If you follow 72nd Avenue from North Delta through Surrey, you'll pass houses, a large industrial area, many temples, mosques, and churches, and several parks. Follow it long enough, and you'll reach an area that feels a little more rural, with patches of scrub-brush forest poking up between the low-level industry buildings, rundown shops, and brand-new townhouse complexes. Across from one of these new-development townhouse neighbourhoods (as well as a broken-down bodega), is Valley View Cemetery and Funeral Home. 

The cemetery stretches over several football fields' worth of rolling green grass, though the entrance is shaded by towering oaks and cedars. In the small patch of forest behind the crematorium is a garden of graves lining a winding path through the trees, with small bridges taking visitors over tiny rocky creeks running between patches of gravestones. 

Many of the headstones in the cemetery proper are small plaques in the ground, save for a portion carved out by the Chinese-Canadian community. Those monuments stand tall and proud, beautifully crafted with black marble and etched hànzì characters. Garrett sometimes wishes his family had been able to afford something similar. 

It's a little harder to find Malcolm Hawke, after all, when his is just a flat, rectangular plaque in the ground amongst hundreds, thousands of similar stones. Yet Garrett could probably find his way to his father's grave blind, if he had to. 

He takes a seat at the foot of the plot with a sigh, his eyes on the flowers already placed there a few hours before by Bethany and his mother. Forget-me-nots, the flower Malcolm had apparently made a habit of presenting Leandra with throughout their tumultuous courtship. They leave a bundle there every year. 

Beside Malcolm's plaque, a little morbidly, is Leandra's, with only her birth year etched in. They'd bought both plots when Malcolm died, despite being hardly able to afford the one. There was no way his mother was able to stand the thought of being buried elsewhere. 

"Hey, Dad," Garrett says softly.

Already it's too much, and he has to take a moment to clear his throat and press the sleeves of his shirt to his eyes to dry them. He takes a sip of his coffee, really only catching the dregs, but the taste of it steels him a little. 

"I don't know if Carver's visited. Marian said he was thinking about coming in the morning, but you know how he is. Marian's probably coming by later once she gets off work, but you know how _she_  is. She's got some news of her own, but I don't want to spoil it, so, uh. It's exciting, is all I'll say, and a little scary for her. I know she could use your advice."

He talks a little longer, catching up on the mundane things - what his classes are like, how his friends are doing, how the Canucks did in the playoffs this year (though he almost omits that one as a kindness to Malcolm's spirit). 

Eventually, he clasps his empty coffee in both hands and sighs.

"I've... met someone. Kind of a big someone. Well, metaphorically big, he's actually kind of tiny. He'd probably make a great ballet dancer, actually, but you don't need to know that." Garrett shakes his head and continues. "I know you would've liked him. He's got this sense of humour- I can't describe it. He'll say something like it's the most mundane thing in the world, like a grocery list, and it'll be the funniest fucking thing you've ever heard. And he's really polite and respectful but cuttingly honest, and he makes the best fucking coffee in the whole goddamn universe. Mom hasn't met him yet, but I know she'd love him. She still misses Sebastian, you know. Won't stop going on about what a shame it was that he "went all church-y." But she'd like Fen, I know she would."

Garrett takes a breath, his eyes on the grass, then looks up again, Malcolm's plaque staring impassively back at him. 

"I could spend an hour sitting here telling you why he's great, dad, but- the truth is, I love him. Like, really _love_  him. I remember you told Ri and me once that you knew within minutes of meeting Mom that she was the one, and it sounded too good to be true. But there's honestly no other way to describe how I feel about him. I love him.

"But someone- maybe more than one someone- hurt him. They hurt him really fucking badly, and I know I'm really only scratching the surface of what they did to him. He's so fucking scared, but he trusts me- at least, I think he does. As much as he can trust anyone, I guess. I want to help him- I'm trying to help him- but I don't know how, or if what I'm doing is enough, or too much. And knowing that there are people out there who _did_  this... I can't even think about it. But then I feel like, that's his anger and his hurt and I'm just appropriating it somehow instead of being there for him? I don't know. It's hard but it's so fucking worth it and I just wish... I just wish you were here. I know what Mom would say, I know what Ri would say, what Beth and Carver would say- fuck, I know what _Gamlen_  would say. But I don't know what you would say, dad. I wish to _God_  I knew what you would say to me right now."

Garrett stops to wipe his face again, and this time his shirt sleeve comes away much damper than before. 

He sniffs, breathes, and continues.

"I really love him," Garrett says again, his voice hardly more than a whisper. "I'm trying to force myself to be realistic, to treat this like any other relationship, to keep my hopes reasonable, but... whenever I look at my future now, when I try to guess at it, he's in it. I don't know how to not feel like this, how to not love him. But I would never blame him, or- or try to stop him from leaving, if he had to leave. I need to give him that space to decide, and I think I am. I- I haven't told him that I love him, at least. I don't know how he'd take it."

Garrett sits there in silence, nothing to break the quiet but the soft brush of wind through the grass and graves, the faint rumble of cars travelling up and down the highway in the distance. 

"He trusts me," says Garrett slowly, picking at the sleeve of his coffee cup. "Maybe I should get used to trusting him, too."

There's no answer from the wind, from the cars, or from the crows starting a fight in a copse of trees nearby. But he gets the feeling deep down, somewhere, that Malcolm Hawke would approve.

-

Garrett opens the door to see Anders with a protein bar in his mouth, hopping into the pants of his medical scrubs with one sock on his foot, the other in Haunt's mouth, trotting happily away as Anders tumbles after him.

"Ge' _bag 'ere!_ " Anders shouts, mouth full, pulling the waistband of his pants up and over his Hello Kitty boxers. He trips and face-plants into the carpet, and Haunt breaks into a run, scampering down the hall and disappearing into Marian and Isabela's room. 

"Bad day?" Garrett asks, as Anders groans into the carpet.

He rolls over, blond hair mussed and tangled up around his face. "I woke up, like, ten minutes ago. So many fucking nightshifts this rotation. Nightshifts are- they- _ugh._ "

"Want me to drive you?" 

"No, fuck, no, I've got- fuck, ten minutes, that's okay. I'll still make the bus. Not even the late bus, the actual bus. Amazing, right?"

"Your shirt is inside out."

"Fuck me."

Anders sits up and flips his shirt around, muttering to himself. "So how was your day, then? Given that you actually get to experience the _day,_  like a normal person, and not the night like vampires, bats, and nurses."

"Er," says Garrett, slipping off his shoes and kicking them into their overstuffed closet. "It was, uh... it was a day."

Anders pauses for a moment, shirt back on, then smacks his head with his palm. "Fuck. I'm so fucking sorry, I forgot what day it is. I'm a fucking moron."

"No, you're not, it's okay," Garrett says, as Anders gets to his feet; rumpled, sockless, and decidedly shamefaced. "It's not like a birthday, or something. It's actually the direct opposite of a birthday. Deathdays are very different. There's a significant lack of cake and presents involved."

"Still," says Anders. "I'm really sorry. Are you out to Ladner tonight, then?"

"Bethy's got it covered," Garrett says. "And we're doing family dinner on Sunday. I think I'm just gonna go to my room and... I don't know, drink heavily?"

"As a nurse I advise against it; as your friend I advise you to check under my bed for the half-mickey of Jaeger I never got around to finishing."

"Because of St. Patrick's Day?"

"We do not say those words in this household, Garrett. You know the rules." Anders hesitates a moment, then steps forward, wrapping Garrett in a hug. "From everything I've heard, he seemed like a great man."

Garrett closes his eyes and lets his head come to rest on Anders' shoulder. Just for a moment. "He was."

They break apart, still close, still sharing this moment together.

Then Garrett glances down, raises an eyebrow and says, "Is that a fucking hickey?"

Anders' eyes widen, and he slaps a hand over his neck with a thoroughly unconvincing, "No?"

"Oh my God, is it DILF-Doctor?" Garrett asks. Anders flushes pink and scowls at him. "Oh my God, _is it?_ "

"Shut up, I'm not listening, I'm not answering that," Anders says, turning and hurrying away, hand still clasped to his neck. "If you tell Isabela I'll kill you."

"Anders _Demetrius_ Smith-"

"That's not my fucking name _-_ "

"-you get back here _right now_  and _tell me_  you're not getting sweet at-work loving from a handsome Grey's Anatomy reject-"

Andy dives into his room and slams the door behind him.

Garrett snickers all the way to his own room, stopping by the kitchen just long enough to snag a beer from the fridge. He toes the door shut behind him and tosses his schoolbag on his overflowing desk. 

This is the part of the day he dreads most; the quiet part. The part where he pulls out old photos and leafs through them more because he feels he should, than for any real reason. The part where he drinks and watches bad movies or YouTube videos and tries not to think. The part where the silence sets in, and his mind cycles between monotony, guilt at the monotony and not feeling more sad, feeling sad, then trying to distract himself from the sadness with monotony.

_Maybe I'll make pizza_ , he thinks dully. 

He cracks open the beer, sits on the edge of his bed, and takes a sip.

A few minutes later and halfway into a "News Fails of 2016" compilation video, there's a knock at his door.

Garrett stands with a bemused grunt, crossing the room as he speaks. "Andy, just because your asshole cat stole your sock doesn't mean I'm gonna let you borrow mine-"

He opens the door, and his words trip and stall on his tongue. 

There, incredibly, stands Fenris, a paper bag in hand, his overlarge t-shirt nearly slipping off one of his slim shoulders. 

"Anders let me in," Fenris says. At Garrett's increased look of shock, Fenris adds, "I'm as surprised as you are. I-" he clears his throat and looks away, then says, "Months ago, your sister told me a little about your father. You seemed upset today, so I spoke to Isabela, and- I'm sorry for invading your privacy, but I know what day it is, now."

Garrett blinks, having absolutely no idea how to respond, and settles for, "Oh."

"I am the last person to criticize or take offence at the need for secrecy regarding personal matters," Fenris continues, lifting his face to look up at Garrett. "I just wanted you to know- you can _tell me_  these things. Allow me to care for you the way you care for me."

Garrett's grip on the door tightens a little, and he looks away. "I'm sorry, Fen, I just- I didn't know how-"

He feels Fenris's hand light on his cheek, gently guiding him back to face him, and his large eyes are sombre but soft as they meet Garrett's. "Don't be sorry. I'm here now."

It's almost overwhelming, in that moment, and he can feel his eyes filling so he covers it with a hug, wrapping his arms tight around Fenris and burying his face in his shoulder. It takes a moment, then Fenris's arms are lifting to hold him in return.

(It's taking less and less time, now, for Fenris to hug him back.)

"Thank you," Garrett says quietly, breathing in the scent of Fenris, feeling his soft hair brushing against his ear, Fenris's breath on his neck.

"I can stay, if you'd like me to," Fenris responds, his voice soft. "As long as you need me."

Garrett squeezes his eyes shut tight, and says, "I'd like that."

Fenris's paper bag, as it turns out, is full to the brim with pastries from Hightown - from apple turnovers to cinnamon rolls to the pistachio macarons Garrett's fallen in love with. They rip the bag open and turn it into a serving platter on Garrett's bed, spending a few minutes just admiring the spread, and Garrett taking some time to tease Fenris about his love for apples (apple pastries, apple candies, apple juice- the man has a fixation).

Then Fenris slides closer, lifting his arm a little awkwardly and looking at Garrett expectantly. Asking, in his own way.

Garrett leans in, curling his much larger self against Fenris's side as Fenris shifts to guide Garrett's head to rest against his shoulder. Garrett realizes belatedly that Fenris is holding him the way he often holds Fenris, and something about that - about Fenris trying so very hard to give him this, to help him, in the only way he knows how - fills his heart to bursting. As happens so very often these days, the words are on his lips, begging to be said.

_I love you._

He bites them back.

"If you don't mind my asking... what happened to your father?" Fenris asks, starting to card his fingers through Garrett's hair. "It might help to talk about it, or- if you'd rather not-"

"It's okay," Garrett says quietly, settling closer as Fenris strokes his hair. "He- um, he got sick when I was eight or so. I think it was cancer? It seems weird not to know, but at the time there were a bunch of diagnoses floating around and he didn't want us to know too much about it and after he was gone, it just didn't seem very important anymore. Mom doesn't like to talk about it.

"He died just before Ri and I turned twelve, and the years before that were just... really hard. He was always such a big, strong guy, you know? And suddenly he had no energy, could barely work, and he had four kids at home and two were preschoolers and just didn't understand. He and mom tried really hard to keep things normal, but they couldn't. Then Ri overheard them talking one day and found out dad had signed a DNR-"

"DNR?" Fenris asks softly. 

"'Do Not Resuscitate,'" Garrett says. "It's a form that basically... it tells the doctors not to try to bring someone back, or to interfere beyond a certain reasonable means, if their heart stops."

"I see."

"Marian was furious with him. Thought that he'd given up on us, that- well, we were kids and we didn't know shit, so we always thought he was going to get better. That there'd be some Disney-style miracle, or the doctors would trip on the right treatment, and he'd be back to his old self. I can't imagine what it was like for him, trying to explain to his kids..."

Garrett lets out a shuddering sigh, his eyes dangerously wet. Fenris's only response is to pull him a little closer, hold him a little tighter.

"About a week or two before he died, he pulled Marian into his room," Garrett says, his voice thick. "He knew she was angry with him, but I think he understood that out of all of us, she was the one that actually got it. What it would mean, not to have him around anymore. I still don't know what they talked about in there, but it took over an hour. When Marian came out she was- different, somehow. She looked like she'd grown ten years in that hour, like she wasn't a kid anymore. I guess in some ways she wasn't.

"It was kind of a stupidly normal day when he died. He was in and out of the hospital so much during those last few months, we all kind of got used to holding our breath. Then his heart stopped, and he was just... gone."

Fenris rests his temple against Garrett's head, hand still gently trailing through his hair, and says, "I'm so sorry, Garrett."

"It happens, I guess," Garrett says dully. "And it was a long time ago."

"I don't doubt that time has helped, but it is hardly a cure," Fenris says. "That must have been very difficult."

Coming from anyone else, the line might have sounded robotic, a standard consolatory statement. From Fenris, though, there's a depth of sincerity and sympathy that threatens to cloud Garrett's vision with tears again.

"Thank you so much for coming, and- and listening," Garrett says. "I know you've got your own shit-"

Fenris pulls back from Garrett, just a little, and takes his chin in his hand, tilting his face up to meet his gaze.

"Me having shit does not preclude your shit from being important," Fenris says firmly. "I want to be here when you need me. I want to _help_. Please."

Garrett looks at Fenris - the set of his brows over those large, gorgeous, telltale eyes of his, the determined set of his chin, the straight line of his lips. He means this. He really _means_  this.

_Maybe I should get used to trusting him, too._

"Okay," says Garrett, barely more than a whisper. 

Fenris nods, and closes the sparse distance between their lips to kiss him.

After a moment they break apart, and Fenris says, "So what do you usually do when this day comes around?"

"Usually? I visit his grave and update him on what he's missed vis-à-vis family drama, current events, etc. Didn't have the heart to tell him about the American election. If all goes well, I'll catch him up next year."

"Reasonable. And then?"

"Then... I don't know. I usually watch shitty YouTube videos and eat a fuckton of ice cream and sugar-related products, so we've got part of that nailed down thanks to you."

"Glad I could help." Fenris presses another kiss to Garrett's lips, then says, "I have tomorrow off, so I can... stay over, if you'd like."

Garrett feels his heart lift at the thought of it - fuck, tonight of all nights, he doesn't want to sleep alone - but aloud he says, "Are you sure?" 

"Not for- um-"

"I know, it's okay."

"-just to be here." Fenris takes Garrett's hand in his own, and says, "I'd like to be here. And perhaps tomorrow we could go on another adventure?"

Garrett snaps his fingers, and Fenris jumps. " _Granville Island!_  You haven't experienced the pigeons yet!"

"What a travesty."

"I'm serious Fen, you have to see it to believe it. They'll even roost on you if you have bird seed on hand."

"I'm not doing that."

"You have to. It's Canadian Law."

"I can say with some certainty that that is a load of bullshit."

"It's the _law._ "

Fenris shakes his head and reaches over Garrett to pick up Garrett's phone, dropping it in his lap. "In the meantime, I believe you said shitty YouTube videos were in order."

"I wasn't lying when I said shitty," Garrett warns. "And because today is a very sad day for me, you're not allowed to judge my taste in cheer-up videos."

Fenris's mouth twitches a little at this, and he says gravely, "I'll keep that in mind."

"First, we're starting off with a classic. You know the song _Tight Pants, Body Rolls_?"

"Absolutely not."

"Okay, well, do you want to see a video from New Year's of Anders dancing drunk in pink spandex pants to _Tight Pants, Body Rolls_? He hates when we bring it up. Really bugs the shit out of him."

The hungry gleam of anticipation in Fenris' eyes is a little disturbing, but very cute, as he leans in close and says, "Show me."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HOT DOG DIGGITY DAMN Y'ALL I'M TIRED AS FUCK BUT THERE'S SOME NOTES!!!
> 
> \- The first part of this chapter is the closest approximation to IRL script shenanigans as I could get in AO3 formatting. There are some flexible rules in script-writing and I'm sure I got some shit wrong but GENERALLY, you capitalize 1) entrances and exits 2) character names the first time they're mentioned 3) special effects that need to be noted 4) certain prop things that need to be noted and 4) specific acting prompts that need to be noted. The last three are up for debate and I've seen some scripts that only follow the first two rules of capitalization bullshit but that's generally what you'll see.
> 
> \- SIDES. I don't know if I've explained sides before! Every day production gets a very important little cheatsheet bundle that lets everyone know what the fuck we're doing. First sheet or two is a copy of the callsheet (schedule for the day, important numbers and contact info, locations, etc), then the rest of the bundle are the selections from the script that we're actually filming. So for example if we're filming scene 3A, all of that would be copied over into the sides so that actors, directors, sound people, cam-ops, ET ALL, has something to refer back to. The majority of them are printed very small. A GOOD PA TIP: TRY TO TRACK DOWN THE TAD AND VERY KINDLY AND RESPECTFULLY ASK FOR A COPY OF THE SIDES. An informed PA is the best PA, and when actors, ADs, and producers lose track of their sides (which they do 90% of the time), you have one on hand to give them and they think you're the bees knees! But be nice to the TAD because they are often tired and slightly abused. 
> 
> \- "Twigs" comes from Varric's nickname for Mahanon in my canon 'verse (which yes, I'll be posting more stories for thanks to comments and encouragement from various sweethearts and lovelies <3). Boy has thick curly hair that picks up half the forest when they're out. He can't help it.
> 
> \- There is a lot of weird shit about Valley View Cemetery (my community theatre troupe used to rehearse in their crematorium - like wtf), but the death forest is definitely the weirdest. It's gorgeous, like a little forest garden, only with shrines and gravestones everywhere. It's kind of tucked away too, so you don't really know that it's there until you get turned around and stumble into the forest and suddenly holy shit graves everywhere. 
> 
> \- I don't know if the narrative will do a full "Garrett and Fenris' Excellent Adventure" Granville Island excursion because you know, there's plot to get through, but I kind of want to because Granville Island is one of my favourite places on the planet. It's not an actual *island* island, in the sense that you don't need a boat to get there. It's a small island in False Creek under the Granville Street bridge, and it's home to an enormous market for food and crafts, several local specialty stores, some amazing overpriced restaurants, Emily Carr University, and most of Vancouver's theatre scene. My only categorically awful audition was for a Granville Island theatre company though, so naturally I can never show my face to the performance arts community there ever again.
> 
> \- Finally, because it's absolutely important that you know this, this is the song Anders is dancing to in the video Garrett mentions at the end of the chapter: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DD0EHiBQdN0
> 
> As always, thank you thank you thank you for reading this story! The comments give me strength and keep me going and make me smile from ear to ear and I love you all <3


	18. And Up Goes the Rating!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I almost titled this chapter "Get it, Fenris," because that's what I was thinking while I was writing it.

**From: RULE63ME**

Uuuuuuuuuuugh.

 

**To: RULE63ME**

is that a zombie sound are u a zombie now

 

**From** :  **RULE63ME**

It's the sound of a woman with a migraine, is what it is.

 

**To:** **RULE63ME**

is it because of douchecanoe

 

**To:** **RULE63ME**

good ol what's his nuts

 

**From:** **RULE63ME**

If you mean Corypheus then yes.

 

**From:** **RULE63ME**

*Corey Pheus what a weird fucking name. 

 

**To:** **RULE63ME**

what is it this time?

 

**From:** **RULE63ME**

Just an overall douchiness. And he's still picking on Mahanon. The kid's couching it in smiles and happy texts but Carver's been keeping me in the loop.

 

**To:** **RULE63ME**

I thought mahanon was keeping u in the loop about carver?

 

**From:** **RULE63ME**

It's called strategy. I'm very strategic. 

 

**To:** **RULE63ME**

uh huh. anyway isn't mahanon still seeing dorian and bull like all bull has to do is show up to set and squint at the guy and the guy will be like "holy fuck" and idk probably cry. I would cry.

 

**From:** **RULE63ME**

I'd pay to see that tbh. I don't know, Mahanon's got that "stiff upper lip" stoic suffering British thing. Not even Alaine knows.

 

**To:** **RULE63ME**

he's also adorable and has the eyes of a bushbaby how could anyone ever be mean to him is my question like even haunt would probably give him a pass.

 

**To:** **RULE63ME**

speaking of HAUNT IS SITTING IN FEN'S LAP RIGHT NOW THEY'RE DOING SOME KIND OF WEIRD SILENT MUTUAL RESPECT BONDING THING

 

**From:** **RULE63ME**

Pics or it didn't happen. So Fen's over rn then?

 

**To:** **RULE63ME**

yeah we're hanging out. I'm gonna make dinner soon, want me to save you some?

 

**From:** **RULE63ME**

Nah, I'm gonna be home pretty late. Like really late. It's a night shoot tonight and while I shouldn't have anything to do with that I'm going down to set to... supervise. See how our diva is doing. There's still leftovers of that Thai takeout from last night, right?

 

**To:** **RULE63ME**

yep unless bethany takes it or anders or bela

 

**To:** **RULE63ME**

but I won't take it

 

**To:** **RULE63ME**

because I'm a good brother

 

**From: Officer Coppertop**

GARRETT CALL ME NOW PLEASE VERY URGENT

 

**From:** **RULE63ME**

Uh huh. Say hi to Fen for me and take pictures of the supposed bonding or I'm chalking it up to the lies of a smitten man.

 

**From: Officer Coppertop**

EXTREMELY VERY URGENT

 

**To:** **RULE63ME**

will do and is there any reason why aveline is sending me all caps texts??? she's freaking the fuck out.

 

**From:** **RULE63ME**

None that I'm aware of...?

 

**From: Officer Coppertop**

I KNOW YOU CAN SEE THESE GARRETT PLEASE CALL RIGHT AWAY

 

Garrett frowns at his phone as he walks into the living room, passing Fenris a glass of red wine and carefully maneuvering his beer bottle out from the crook of his elbow as he takes a seat in his beaten-up armchair. Fenris watches passively, taking a small sip of wine and softly stroking Haunt's fur - Haunt, who has cat-loafed regally in Fenris's lap, and seems content to stay there for the time being.

"Everything alright?" Fenris asks.

"I dunno," Garrett says, tilting his head. He glances up at Fenris and Haunt and says, "That's a straight-up Disney miracle right there, by the way."

"We've reached an understanding," Fenris says, giving Haunt a little scratch behind the ears. "I do not approach him. He does not bite me. We enjoy each other's company in certain conditions, but we do not actively seek it of one another. He is a noble creature, and unlikely to lick my face."

"That's Kitty's way of saying she likes you," Garrett says. "Or your aftershave. For a while it was definitely the aftershave, for me."

"There are far better ways of showing affection," Fenris says.

"Oh?" Garrett grins at Fenris, smile broadening as Fenris catches his eye and flushes a little. "Care to elaborate?"

Fenris looks away, but he's clearly biting back a smile. "Perhaps."

_Bzz bzz._

**From: Officer Coppertop**

GARRETT. NOW.

 

"Damn it," Garrett mutters, putting down his beer. "Sorry, babe. I gotta make a quick call."

"Haunt and I will amuse ourselves, then," Fenris says, and Haunt has the damn nerve to chirp in agreement, and butts his little head into Fenris's palm. 

Aveline picks up halfway through the first ring.

" _What took you so long? Didn't you see my texts? I said urgent!_ "

"I saw," Garrett says, settling back in his chair. "I figured if something were on fire, you'd call me. Is something on fire?"

" _This is not the time for Hawke humour, damn it, there's a reason I called you instead of Marian. You... have a slightly better handle on this sort of thing._ "

Without a mirror handy Garrett can't see what his face is doing, but if he had to hazard a guess he'd probably describe it as "utterly nonplussed." Fenris, who's not doing a very good job of pretending not to listen in, seems to echo the sentiment. "What kind of thing? Police work? Fires? You still haven't answered my question about the fire."

" _There is no fire, Garrett. It's just- I might have made a mistake, alright? And I don't quite know how to fix it, or- or if it can be fixed. Or if I should fix it. Do you understand what I'm saying?_ "

"...No?"

" _For heaven's sake- alright, I guess I'm not being very clear. That might be the whole damn problem, actually. God, what a mess. What was I thinking?_ "

"Aveline, I love you, but you're rambling. Like, a worrying amount."

" _I'm sorry, Garrett, I- alright, out with it then, there's... a man._ "

Garrett's mouth falls open, and Fenris's head lifts at that, clearly intrigued. "Aveline-"

" _He's a good man, Garrett, he's an officer under my command-_ "

"Ave _line-_ "

" _Shut up and listen to me. I- I tried to make it... apparent, how I felt. Without harassing him or making him uncomfortable. There are strict guidelines for behaviour between officers - as there should be! - so I had to get creative._ "

Garrett winces. "Creativity isn't your strong suit."

" _I'm aware._ "

"Remember in third grade when you tried to make a recipe for homemade cookies and-"

" _I'm_ aware, _Garrett-_ "

"-there was more salt than flour and it was inexplicably pink-?"

" _This wasn't like that, it was actually a good idea, I swear! I picked up a lapel pin I saw in a thrift store that I thought conveyed the message perfectly._ "

"Did the pin say, ' _Hey, you're cute, we should do lunch?'_  Because otherwise I'm not sure I'm going to agree with your assessment."

" _It was a flower. A marigold, or something. Made of copper. Get it?_ "

Garrett looks to Fenris for help, at a complete loss. Fenris shrugs and shakes his head, seeming equally bemused. "Nope."

" _Copper, Garrett! I'm the only redhead in the office, and flowers are a sign of affection. It should have been obvious._ "

"Maybe she should try licking his face," Fenris says in an undertone. Garrett fakes a cough to cover his laugh. 

" _I hope you're not getting that cold that's going around, Garrett, it's a nasty one. Anyway, he just seemed... confused by it. So I tried again, changed his shifts around so he had some easier cases, which was very difficult by the way! But for some reason he thought it was a punishment of some kind, and now he won't speak to me. I can't tell if he's angry, or if he thinks I'm angry with him, but I'm clearly going about this the wrong way, and- and I need help._ "

Garrett feels his heart soften a little at that, and he says, "I'm glad you feel you can come to me with these things, Aveline."

" _What are best friends for, right? And... well, to be quite honest, Bethany's phone is turned off. I think she's at work. But you were a very close second!_ "

Garrett winces. "Fair enough."

It takes a few minutes to get Aveline calmed down, but by the end of the phone call they have standing plans to drag her new crush (" _Don't call it that, Garrett, it's so... juvenile sounding. Ugh._ ") out to the Hanged Man on Saturday. Garrett hangs up with a shake of his head. 

"She seemed very nervous," Fenris says. "It's not very like her, is it? Has she done this kind of thing before?"

"Kind of," Garrett says, picking up his beer. "But it was a long time ago. She got married right out of university to someone she met when she was eighteen- damn, that was almost ten years ago." At Fenris's questioning look, Garrett adds, "He, um. Died. Just over two years ago now."

"I'm sorry to hear that," Fenris says quietly. "Were you close?"

"With her husband? Not really. He was kind of conservative, and- well, he loved Aveline so we had to love him, but he was kind of a dick. Sorry, Wes, if you're listening in. It's nice to see Aveline getting on with her life, though."

"It's wise of her to do so," Fenris says. "Though... it sounds as if she'll need some help. Copper marigolds?"

Garrett winces. "You know that kid who always has to explain their Hallowe'en costume? Aveline was that kid. And she never made it easy by choosing a red-haired character! Like, if you're gonna wear a Gryffindor Hogwarts costume, we're obviously going to assume Ginny, not Hermione, you know?"

Fenris laughs, disturbing Haunt, who casts Fenris a caustic look. "Apologies, friend. You know, I've never seen those movies."

"You've never seen _Harry Potter?_ "

"I only started reading the books last year," Fenris says with a shrug. "I thought they were quite good. I'm halfway through the third one."

"The movies don't hold a candle to the books, but they're still pretty great," Garrett says. "I think we have the first one lying around here somewhere- we could watch it with dinner?"

"I'm amenable," Fenris says with a smile. "And speaking of dinner, you had a secret recipe you wished to show me?"

"Spicy garlic shrimp pasta... thing. I kind of made it up. But I promise it's delicious. You sure you want to risk the wrath of Haunt by moving, though?"

"As I said, we have an understanding," Fenris says. He taps Haunt on the rump and says, "Up now, if you please."

Haunt makes a low grumbling sound, but rises from Fenris's lap, taking a long moment to stretch before stalking away to the other end of the couch. 

"You're like Jackson Galaxy," Garrett says, awestruck. At Fenris's bemused look Garrett adds, "He's the cat version of the Dog Whisperer. The Cat Whisperer! He'll not only fix your cat, he'll fix your relationships. He's saved an impressive amount of marriages for a cat behaviouralist."

"'Cat behaviouralist' is not a job," Fenris says, getting to his feet and crossing over to Garrett's armchair, taking a sip of wine. "It is, at best, an overly ambitious attempt to justify a dangerous obsession with felines."

"Don't tell Anders that," Garrett says, grinning as Fenris perches on the armrest. "He loves _My Cat From Hell._  I've watched him cry over it."

"Colour me unsurprised," Fenris mutters. "Anyway, you still have yet to show me anything, Hawke."

Garrett grins and slips his arm around Fenris's waist. "What, are you getting hungry?"

"More impatient than anything," Fenris says, sliding off the armrest and into Garrett's lap. It's cute and hot and utterly devastating, and Garrett's pretty sure his heartbeat becomes easily audible as Fenris looks up at him with those fucking _eyes_  of his. "I was promised some action." 

Garrett swallows. "Um, sadly our kitchen doesn't get that exciting- well, unless you count the time Marian set the oven on fire-"

Fenris kisses him, slipping his hand around the back of Garrett's head to pull him in closer. It's all Garrett can do not to toss his beer away so he can wrap both arms around Fenris and haul him in tight, cradle him close against his chest, maybe let his lips travel a little lower down that long, lean throat-

" _Mrrow._ "

Fenris and Garrett break away from one another to see Haunt on the edge of the couch, tail _thwapping_ the cushions as he glares at the two of them. 

"Look, you got your time with Fen, now it's my turn," Garrett says reasonably, as Fenris tucks his face into Garrett's shoulder and laughs. "If you're lonely, go track Pounce or Kitty down. They're probably curled up together somewhere."

Haunt bares his teeth, and without warning or cause, launches himself at Garrett's chest.

In the ensuing scuffle, Garrett winds up with three cat scratches down his arm, half a glass of wine in his lap, and pretty much all of his beer on his shirt. Fenris, somehow, gets out of things mostly unscathed, save for possible a scratch or two as Haunt uses him as a convenient shield from Garrett's wrath before taking off down the hall, yowling all the way.

"Little psycho ball of _asshole_ ," Garrett mutters, pulling at his beer-soaked shirt. Fenris, tragically but understandably, is no longer sitting in his lap, and is instead standing a few paces away looking as though he's trying very hard to be sympathetic, and trying significantly less hard not to laugh. "I thought you two had an understanding!"

"You shouldn't have told him to approach the dog for affection," Fenris says straight-faced, though there's a muscle twitching in the corner of his mouth. "I'm sure he took offence to it."

"Oh, _my_  bad, then," Garrett mutters, getting to his feet and wincing as beer trickles down his front. "Sorry, I'll be back- gonna change my shirt so I don't smell like a brewery."

Fenris is kind enough to wait until Garrett is out of the room before he starts laughing outright, his low chuckles following Garrett down the hall and into his room. 

Garrett doesn't bother closing the door as he peels off his shirt with a wince, using the driest part of it to dab at the wine on his jeans before tossing it into his overflowing laundry hamper. He still _smells_  like beer, so he takes a moment to spray on some nice pine-smelling shit Bethany got him last Christmas to cover the scent. 

He's in the process of digging through his drawers, trying to find a clean shirt appropriate for a casual date night (and preferably one that doesn't have superheroes or funny captions on it, which rules out at least 50% of his wardrobe), when he hears his bedroom door close. 

He looks over his shoulder to see Fenris leaning back against the door, his eyes heated as his gaze travels over Garrett's bare back and shoulders, his lips parted very slightly. 

Garrett slides his drawer shut and straightens, closing the distance between them. Fenris lifts his chin a little - a challenge and an invitation. 

"Fen?" Garrett asks quietly, resting his hands on Fenris's narrow hips. 

"I'm getting on with my life," Fenris says, lifting his hands to loop them around the back of Garrett's neck, pressing forward to close the distance between them.

The first kiss is gentle. The second, less so. 

By the third Fenris is on his toes to kiss Garrett deeper, a hand nesting in Garrett's hair as the other slides down over his bare back. Garrett slips his hands under Fenris's thighs and lifts, smiling against Fenris's lips as Fenris squawks a little in surprise and quickly scrambles for a firmer grip, wrapping his legs around Garrett's waist as Garrett balances him back against the door. From this angle he can press kisses against Fenris's throat, drag his lips over the line of tattoos tumbling down Fenris's neck and over his collarbones, disappearing into his shirt. He bites, very gently, and is rewarded with a soft groan from Fenris, his grip around Garrett's shoulders tightening. 

Garrett kisses a particularly sensitive spot under Fenris's ear, and Fenris curls forward with a shudder, hips hitching in Garrett's hold. He rakes his fingers down Garrett's back, and they both groan as Garrett presses up between Fenris's legs, feeling a growing need for friction as he hardens in the confines of his jeans. 

He secures his grip on Fenris and turns, taking a few steps and lowering him down on the edge of the bed. Fenris keeps his arms around Garrett, gazing up at him, his pupils blown wide. 

"How far do you want this to go?" Garrett murmurs, running his palms up Fenris's thighs, over his hips, up his sides and grinning as Fenris squirms a little under his hands.

"I, um-" Fenris bites his lip, still pulling Garrett in close as he tries to find his words. "I- I don't think I can do anything... penetrative, just yet."

Garrett nods, and kisses Fenris, hoping he's being reassuring. "Okay."

"But I want to make you- _see_  you finish," Fenris says a little more confidently, effectively stealing Garrett's breath away. "And..."

He seems to struggle for a moment, and Garrett waits, until finally Fenris curses a little and snatches up one of Garrett's hands, pressing it between his legs.

Garrett's mouth drops a little. Fenris raises his eyebrows, staring at him. 

Then Garrett cups his palm against the bulge in Fenris's black jeans, giving it a slow, firm stroke, and Fenris lets out a pitched whine that makes Garrett want to put his mouth all over him, to see what other sounds he can tease out. 

Garrett finds Fenris's lips again, kissing him as he keeps a firm hand between Fenris's legs. Fenris's breath is panted out against Garrett's mouth, hitched and gasping. He takes his hands off Garrett just long enough to pull his shirt off over his head. Garrett makes a low noise of appreciation at this, quickly turning to a short laugh as Fenris growls a little and flips them both over, nearly sending them tumbling off the bed.

Garrett scoots up the mattress a little and Fenris follows, straddling Garrett's lap and cupping his face with both hands to kiss him. The kiss ends with a bite, teeth closing over Garrett's bottom lip with a sweet sharpness that drags a low groan from his throat. His hands roam over Fenris's bare back, down to his wickedly tight ass, which Garrett can't help but give a little squeeze. Fenris breaks away with a sharp intake of breath, but the look in his eyes is heated and wanting.

He takes Garrett by his shoulders and pushes him down against the mattress. Garrett goes easily, a little blown away by Fenris's manhandling and utterly, _utterly_  okay with it. Fenris nips at Garrett's earlobe before trailing his mouth down Garrett's neck, pausing to suck a mark just aside his Adam's apple. Garrett arches up into Fenris with a groan, his hands tightening on Fenris's ass. 

"That's gonna be impossible to cover up, you know," Garrett says when he has his breath back, more a conversational aside than a complaint.

"Good," Fenris says lowly, a kind of savage satisfaction in his voice that makes Garrett want to shout " _Take me, I'm yours._ " Despite how strong the urge may be, it doesn't quite seem appropriate for the situation.

Fenris proceeds to pepper Garrett's collarbone with similar marks, lingering in the hollow of Garrett's throat, his lips and teeth causing Garrett's toes to curl. Then he sits up, his deft, scarred hands making quick work of Garrett's belt, and _fuck_  if that isn't something Garrett's storing in his mind for nights when Fenris isn't around to rip his clothes off in a manly fashion. 

It takes two of them to get the job done - Fenris impatiently fumbling with the zipper, Garrett lifting his hips and nearly sending Fenris tumbling down on top of him - but soon Garrett is out of his jeans, and lying mostly naked under Fenris in nothing but his-

"Are those Transformers?" Fenris says, sounding vaguely dismayed as he stares down at Garrett's choice of boxers. 

"From the 80s cartoon, not the Michael Bay movies, if that helps," Garrett says. 

"It does not," Fenris says, but to Garrett's immense relief he leans back down and presses himself along Garrett's front, lifting his head just enough to catch Garrett's lips with his own. He even rolls his hips, grinding the front of his jeans down against Garrett's aching hard-on, which punches a sharp gasp out of Garrett's chest because fuck, _fuck_ , he wants this. Wants Fenris tangled up with him and moving like this, breath warm and panting across Garrett's skin as he rubs himself against him. The sounds Fenris is making, soft moans and gasps punctuating his breaths, are slowly driving Garrett insane.

"You're- _fuck,_ shit, Fen, you're still wearing pants," Garrett says. "Can I change that?"

Fenris pauses for a moment, and Garrett worries he's hit a roadblock, crossed one of those invisible lines. Then Fenris smiles, kisses Garrett's nose, and says, "Okay."

Garrett grins and rolls them back over again, Fenris looking faintly amused and positively debauched beneath him; his white hair is more than a little tousled, his skin flushed and parted lips red and full and fuck, Garrett wants a picture of this. Five hundred pictures of Fenris looking up at him like there's nothing he wants more than Garrett between his legs, hungry for Garrett's touch. It's enough to make him almost dizzy with want. 

But as gorgeous as shirtless-Fenris is, Garrett's still eager to see shirtless- and pantless-Fenris. He steals a quick kiss from Fenris's lips, eagerly returned, and sits up to help Fenris out of his sinfully tight black jeans.

He shouldn't have been surprised by the tattoos. He'd even guessed so much after seeing how the curving white lines disappeared past the hem of Fenris's jeans.

But it was one thing to theorize, and quite another to _see_  them, slowly revealed as he pulls the fabric down over Fenris's lean thighs and calves. His faded black boxer-briefs cut the lines between his hips and thighs, but they continue down over his legs in intricate swirls and whorls, right down to his feet and even lining each toe.

He can't hide the look on his face, he knows- equal parts struck by the beauty of them, and reminded that something about these tattoos _hurt_  Fenris. Not a single patch of skin has been left untouched by them, so it would seem. Garrett's even come to notice three small dots of white ink on Fenris's forehead, hidden under side-swept bangs for the most part.

He glances up, and Fenris isn't looking at him, but his self-consciousness is written clearly in the slump of his shoulders, the way he grips the sheets beneath his hands.

Garrett tosses Fenris's jeans aside and loops his arm under Fenris's calf, lifting it just enough so he can press a kiss to the side of Fenris's knee. Fenris's head snaps up at this, his expression confused and maybe a little alarmed, but not unwanting. 

He watches Garrett, breathing heavily as Garrett leaves a trail of kisses up Fenris's inner thigh, close enough that he catches the heady scent of Fenris's arousal. He skips up to Fenris's hips, laying open-mouthed kisses on each hipbone and trailing his tongue over the thin skin stretched tight between them, eliciting a full-body shudder from Fenris, who's still gripping the sheets tightly but now for an entirely different reason. 

Garrett hooks a finger into the waistband of Fenris's briefs, and looks up. "Can I...?"

Fenris swallows, looking very conflicted, but eventually shakes his head. "Not- not yet. Sorry."

"Don't be," Garrett says, releasing the fabric. He leans up to give Fenris a gentle kiss. "Don't ever be sorry about that, okay? Thank you for telling me."

If Fenris was confused before, he looks heartbreakingly bewildered now, but he just nods and leans in for another kiss.

Garrett presses his lips to Fenris's mouth, then his chin, before lowering himself back down between Fenris's legs. "I won't take anything off, but... I was wondering if I could put my mouth on you."

Fenris's eyes flare very, very wide at that. "Through the-?" Garrett nods. Fenris heaves a very large breath, and says, "I haven't- no one has ever-"

He winces, and Garrett manages to keep his expression very neutral, but if Fenris is saying what Garrett thinks he was going to say... well, it's just another bit of fuel to feed the burning hatred Garrett holds for Fenris's shadowy, abusive ex. 

Garrett waits, and maybe cheats a little by drawing the tip of his finger down over Fenris's clothed erection. Fenris _whimpers_  at this, keen desperation in his voice, and nods. 

Garrett wastes absolutely no time and wraps his arms around Fenris's thighs, ducking his head down to mouth at the bulge in Fenris's briefs. Fenris gasps and collapses back onto his elbows, thrusting up into Garrett's mouth. The reaction seems utterly involuntary, but it's a damn good sign, and just to make things a little easier for both of them Garrett bars his arm across Fenris's hips to keep him still, quickly petting Fenris's bare thigh reassuringly with his other hand.

It's something to savour, the way Fenris squirms beneath him as he licks at the fabric over the tip of his cock, how he seems to have trouble breathing as Garrett huffs warm air over him, how his hands finds Garrett's hair and tug, _hard_ , as Garrett takes as much of him into his mouth as he can, bound up in cloth as he is. Soon Fenris's chest is heaving, breath leaving him in gasps and whimpers and curses and whispers of Garrett's name- _Garrett_ , not "Hawke," and the difference adds to the pool of warmth building in the pit of Garrett's stomach. He finds himself starting to grind into the mattress to relieve a little of the pressure, the pressing need between his own legs, because _fuck_  but Fenris is beautiful, and he can start to taste him a little on his tongue and it's so fucking _good._

He licks a long strip up the cloth, from where he can feel Fenris's balls up to the tip of his shaft, then back down, taking a moment to tease his tongue into the crease of Fenris's inner thigh. Fenris writhes a little at this, gasping, and says, "Garrett, _fuck_ , I'm-"

He breaks off into a pitched, almost helpless-sounding little moan, and tries to tug Garrett up and away from himself by his hair. Garrett, having some idea of what Fenris is trying to say, places his hand over Fenris's on the back of his head and twines their fingers together, lowering himself back down to mouth at Fenris's erection some more, moaning against him to show that he _wants_  this, wants to taste him, wants to give him this, see him come apart with pleasure under the touch of his lips.

Fenris squirms, arches back against the mattress, and releases with a strangled cry, shivering as his cum seeps through the fabric of his briefs and into Garrett's mouth. Garrett licks up as much as he can, causing Fenris to jerk and shudder under him through the aftershocks and the continuing attention to now-oversensitive skin. When Garrett raises his head, Fenris is just _staring_  at him, eyes heavy-lidded and his lips parted, one hand still gripping Garrett's tightly (as well as a chunk of Garrett's hair, which is a little painful but Garrett is so very, very far from minding at the moment). 

Garrett plants one more kiss against the damp patch in Fenris's briefs, right over the tip of his softening cock, and moves up the bed until he's face-to-face with Fenris, who's still staring and honestly looks a little concussed. 

"Was that alright?" Garrett asks, lifting a hand to smooth a little of Fenris's hair away from his eyes.

Fenris chokes a little. "'Was that-?' _Fuck_ , Garrett-"

He crashes their mouths together, answering Garrett's question of whether or not Fenris is opposed to kissing someone with a case of cum-mouth. He presses himself close to Garrett, pushing him a little until he rolls onto his back, Fenris stretched out along his side and kissing him, still. 

Fenris hooks a leg over Garrett's, trailing the tips of his fingers down Garrett's chest, pausing to tease a nipple. Garrett groans at this and reaches down to palm at himself through his boxers, only to have Fenris smack his hand away from himself - _dangerously_  close to his balls, which is momentarily nerve-wracking, but luckily it's a very precise and carefully-angled strike.

"Fen-" Garrett starts to say, planning to follow up with something along the lines of " _I can take care of myself if you're not comfortable with it, also you're very pretty,_ " only to break into a sharp gasp and a moan as Fenris slips his hand under Garrett's waistband and into his boxers, wrapping his long fingers around Garrett's cock. 

"I've woken up from dreams of doing this since meeting you," Fenris murmurs in Garrett's ear, slowly working his hand over Garrett's erection, his strokes smooth and fucking _unbearably_  inflaming. It's Garrett's turn to squirm, now, breathing heavily as Fenris continues. "It's been more than a little maddening, having to bring myself off alone, imagining my hand on you, your face as I make you cum-"

Well, fuck, Garrett's only human. 

Sure, it's embarrassing how quickly he cums, curling up into Fenris's hand and gasping out his name, but Fenris is hardly playing fair. Garrett has absolutely no defence against that _voice,_  and the image of Fenris touching himself, thinking of him... it's enough to make his mind stop working entirely for a few blindingly awesome seconds.

He comes back to himself slowly, turning his head and seeking Fenris's lips. It takes barely half a second, then Fenris is there, and kissing him slowly, deeply, with the lazy tempo of satisfaction that comes from a good orgasm. 

Fenris slips his hand out of Garrett's boxers, wet with cum, and lifts it to his mouth. Garrett watches with what he's sure are bulging eyes as Fenris licks his hand clean. 

"Holy shit," says Garrett weakly. Then, "I think I just came on Optimus Prime."

Fenris blinks at him, and with a slow, positively _impish_  smile, carefully and firmly shoves Garrett right off the bed.

 

-

 

**To: Nurse Andy**

ur cat got me laid <3

 

**From: Nurse Andy**

I cannot, with the width and breadth of the English language available to me, describe how badly I didn't want to know that.

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> EYYY. Sorry the chapter is short but the point of the chapter honestly was porn and to set up some upcoming plot shit. There is much more plot in the next chapter, I swear.
> 
> THINGS:
> 
> \- the weird pink cookies come from my childhood. my sister and her best friend decided to try to make their own recipe for cookies that they called "rainbow cookies." they came out like vaguely crispy, salty pancakes that were?? pink?? I think we still have the recipe written down somewhere...
> 
> -did Haunt get the boys together? yes yes he did.
> 
> -things to look forward to over the next few chapters: Marian rolling her eyes a lot at "corey-pheus," a Dramatic Thing occurring at the House, and a very unexpected reunion...
> 
> ...and yeah eventually we'll get to Aveline's plotline but this shit takes place over the next 24-hours of story time so sorry Aveline ur gonna have to wait.
> 
> As always I cannot describe how much your comments mean to me, and how they honestly keep me writing. Like again, I would not have gotten this far if it wasn't for your encouragement and feedback. Thank you, thank you, thank you, and I hope you liked the porn because it took me like a week to write.


	19. A Nutty Night

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content warning on this chapter for a medical incident. It's not graphic or anything and I don't want to give away any spoilers, but if you're really concerned about it, it references back to something that was mentioned all the way back in the last little bit of Chapter 8.
> 
> Also I'm actually updating at a decent time of day for where I am instead of three o'clock in the morning, so this is a very bizarre feeling.
> 
> EDIT: HOLY SHIT SOMEONE DID ART FOR THIS CHAPTER thank you x100000000 to mumblingelf from Tumblr, I'm embedding her art at the bottom of the chapter and you can also see it here: http://mumblingelf.tumblr.com/post/172798488849/yes-hello-i-do-still-do-the-art-thing-i-swear-i PLEASE GO GIVE HER ALL THE LOVE BECAUSE THE ARTWORK IS AMAZING

Garrett wakes up feeling completely and utterly at peace with the world, and is at a bit of a loss trying to figure out why.

Then he hears a small, very sleepy little noise, and feels someone burrow in a little closer under his chin, an arm draped over his bare chest and legs tangled up with his own, and he can't help the slow smile lighting up his face. 

Neither can he help his stomach growling, which is what happens when you wind up skipping dinner to get off with your incredibly hot boyfriend instead and pass out for six hours afterwards. 

Fenris startles up at the noise with a grunt, blinking, a deep frown between his brows. He gives Garrett's stomach a little shove. " _Hawke_."

"Sorry," says Garrett quietly, really not feeling very sorry at all as Fenris cuts a grumpy little glare his way, then curls in closer and pillows his head back on Garrett's shoulder. "Still sleepy?"

"Mm," Fenris murmurs, already sounding close to passing out again. "You're warm." 

Then, "You still smell like beer though."

Garrett winces. "Beer and sex. Killer combination, that."

"Well, I don't mind the second one as much," Fenris says, and though Garrett can't see his face he can hear a little smile in his voice.

Garrett grins, and kisses Fenris's hair, letting his hand stroke over Fenris's bare shoulders and down the smooth line of his back. 

They'd had just enough energy to change out of their sex-soaked underwear before curling up together and passing out - Garrett loaned Fenris a pair of his own briefs, the smallest he had, and they hang for dear life off Fenris's slim hips like a pair of oversized boxers anyway. So it's just them now, with very little clothes between them, and Garrett can't think of a better place to be.

He lies there a moment longer, rubbing Fenris's back a little absentmindedly, then says, "Have you really thought about me while jacking off?"

There are moments where Garrett has been forced to seriously question whether having the ability to voice his thoughts aloud really serves his best interests. This is one of them. 

Fenris tenses in his arms, and Garrett cringes. _Best case scenario_ , he thinks, _I get punched in the dick._

(He doesn't want to think about the worst case scenario.)

But then Fenris sighs, and rolls himself forward onto Garrett's chest, folding his hands under his chin over Garrett's chest. His hair is adorably rumpled, his eyes a little heavy with sleep, still, and he's smiling a little, but Garrett still hasn't ruled out the possibility that he's about to get punched in the dick.

Just in case.

"Can you blame me, if I did?" Fenris murmurs, his low voice rumbling pleasantly against Garrett's chest, and Garrett's pretty sure if he were standing right now he'd swoon like a Jane Austen heroine. "It was... an idle fantasy at first. I doubted anything would come of it."

"At- wait," Garrett says, suddenly feeling a very odd lifty feeling in his chest, like someone just pumped helium into his lungs instead of air. "Did you- I mean, I'm sure I was pretty fucking obviously attracted to you when we first met, like embarrassingly so, but- I thought you didn't-"

Fenris blinks at Garrett, colours a little, and tilts his head down to hide his face in Garrett's chest. 

"Oh my God," says Garrett, thinking back to their first meeting, how Fenris had giggled at his flirting. How he'd smiled. "You _liked_  me!"

"He said, with the gravitas of a twelve-year old," Fenris mutters into Garrett's chest.

"That's so cute," Garrett whispers breathlessly. Fenris kicks his shin, not very gently at all. "Um. In a manly way? Anyway, I kind of thought I just sort of grew on you. Like moss. Or lichen. I tried to ask you out-"

"I know," Fenris says quietly. He lifts his head, smiling a little, but his eyes are a little more somber. "I nearly said yes. But I didn't think I could give you what you wanted. And that I couldn't give you this. And part of me was afraid I would lose myself in trying- it's hard to explain. But I was wrong."

Garrett lifts his hands to Fenris's face, leaning up to brush a kiss over Fenris's lips, a kiss that is quickly returned with interest. 

"So how are you feeling now, then?" Garrett asks a few long, languid kisses later.

Fenris seems to take a moment to think, but Garrett's reassured by the slow smile lifting his lips. When Fenris meets his eyes, there's a strange lightness in his expression, a confidence that Garrett doesn't remember seeing before. Self-assurance, maybe _._ Pride.

"I didn't think I could give you this," Fenris repeats slowly. "More, I- never in a million years did I think I could _have_  this. I thought at best I could find some way to- to make it work some how, to make you happy, and that would have been fine, but I was _present_. I don't imagine this will make much sense to you, but... you touched me like I was still here. And all thoughts of giving and taking didn't matter anymore."

The words make little sense to Garrett, but it's the look on Fenris's face that really speaks volumes. He runs the pad of his thumb over Fenris's cheek and says, "I'm not sure if I get what you mean, but I just want to know that you're happy, and comfortable."

"I'm both of those things," Fenris says, turning his head to press his lips to Garrett's palm. Quieter, he adds, "I hope you never understand what I mean."

Garrett runs his fingers through Fenris's white hair, and doesn't say anything. Holds him.

Right until his stomach rumbles again.

Fenris arches an eyebrow at him as Garrett groans, glancing at his clock. "Fuck, it's past midnight. We should really eat something."

"Or we could sleep," says Fenris. 

This is instantly belied by another stomach growl, this time from an entirely different source. Fenris glances down at himself and scowls as Garrett laughs.

"We could see if Bethany's cooked up anything," Garrett says, sitting up. Dislodged from Garrett's chest and looking utterly grumpy about it, Fenris disentangles himself from Garrett's long limbs and takes a moment to hike up the borrowed briefs slipping off his hips. "We don't smell too bad, do we?"

"If I am encountering another human being tonight, I am showering first," Fenris mutters with a grimace. "And you still smell like a brewery."

"A _sexy_  brewery," Garrett says, wrapping his arms around Fenris's waist and planting a little kiss on his cheek. "All that _man_  scent. Manly man. Pheromones and shit."

"You're ridiculous," Fenris says, but he smiles as he turns his head to meet Garrett's lips. "And you should shower."

"I'll take the one in Riri's room and you can take the main one," Garrett says. "Meet you back in the kitchen in ten?"

"It's a date," murmurs Fenris, and seals it with another kiss.

-

It's not so much a solidified rule of film, as it is something that Marian's come to notice after years of working in the industry, but it seems as though the most impressive shots on camera always seem to look fucking stupid in real life.

This set-up, for instance, is meant to be a slow-motion shot of Trevelyan stabbing a Pride Demon in the chest with his marked hand outflung, reaching up to close the rift over the demon's shoulder.

What it looks like is BAFTA-nominated actor Corey Pheus grimacing at a tennis ball on a stick, and stabbing the air repeatedly, his left hand waving madly in the air and wrapped in a lime-green fingerless glove. 

The set itself is impressive, even if the current shot is incredibly giggle-worthy. They've built a good portion of the exterior of the Temple of Sacred Ashes near a gravel quarry halfway up a mountain, and the effect of having the looming shadows of the cedar trees as a backdrop to the wreckage is nothing short of... well, Marian can't really think of a word to describe it, but it looks really fucking cool is the point. She snaps a few pictures for Garrett as surreptitiously as she can. 

" _Cut!_ And we're turning it around, people."

There's a pause over the walkies, then a weary voice echoes, " _Cut_." PAs stationed around the set repeat the call.

Marian frowns and looks to Carver - she's been haunting his lock-up since arriving on set, eager to talk to him. "That was Mahanon on the walkies just now, wasn't it? What about the TAD?"

"The TAD is useless," Carver growls, freed from his duties for a few moments as the set swarms with activity. "And he's an asshole to everyone, especially the PAs. He overheard Ritts saying she felt a little sick on Thursday and asked if she needed a pregnancy test."

"The _fuck?_ "

"Swear to God. I'm gonna check to make sure the Loc stash isn't in shot, see if they need help moving shit. Mahanon's gonna be by video village if you want to talk to him, if Pheus hasn't gotten to him yet."

Marian follows Carver into set, frowning. "He isn't still fetching tea, is he?"

"You'd better believe it."

Marian mutters something very unprofessional under her breath and stalks over to video village, rolling her shoulders and trying her best not to look as irritated as she feels. In the back of her mind she's already drafting at least ten e-mails, rehearsing a call she has scheduled with the LA writing staff on Monday, and daydreaming wistfully about a full bottle of Hennessey and a very naked Bela, but right now there's a diva to deal with. A friend to be avenged. 

"Has anyone seen my kit? I put it with the loc shit- yeah, okay, I see it Ritts, no need to be a fucking smartass."

And a TAD to fire, probably. But only if she's very lucky.

She stops by video village only briefly, just long enough to have a quick chat with the director - Loghain MacTir, an industry veteran who Marian suspects has not slept since the 80s, if his eyes are anything to go by. She catches sight of Mahanon in the midst of the kerfuffle of set, hair wild and eyes ringed with dark circles as he directs PAs and helps lift gear that honestly looks at least three times heavier than himself. It's as he's hauling muddy plywood across to the new camera set-up that she catches sight of Pheus waving from the entrance to the cast tent, a haughty frown pulling his thin brows close. She can see the look of resignation on Mahanon's face as he sees this, and acknowledges Pheus with a weary nod. He trots the last few metres to the camera set-up and drops the plywood, passing a sympathetic-looking Ritts on his way to the satellite crafty trolley. 

"Excuse me," Marian says to MacTir, her eyes set on the cast tent as Pheus smirks and disappears inside. "I've got to speak to Pheus."

"Have fun," MacTir mutters, and turns to strike up a conversation with the DOP as Marian exits.

Marian slips into the cast tent to see that Pheus has retreated to his chair, a bottle of Perrier in hand as he thumbs through his phone, a vaguely dissatisfied sneer marring his otherwise handsome face. He glances up as Marian approaches, and blinks into a megawatt smile, full of charm.

"Maid Marian," he says, reclining back in his seat and taking a lazy sip of water. "Always nice to see you on set. It's all quite something, isn't it?"

"Still not a fan of the "Maid Marian" thing," Marian says as sweetly as she can, matching Pheus's icy eyes with her own, reflecting his slick grin. "But that's really not gonna stop you, huh?"

"I'm afraid not," Pheus says with a shrug. "What can I say? You're beautiful, _young-_  it's all I can think of when I see you."

All Marian can think of when she sees Pheus is Kitty putting aside her docile nature to rip the guy to shreds, Ramsay Bolton-style, but that's neither here nor there. 

"Right," she says, putting her little homicidal fantasy aside for later. "Well, I just wanted to check in on how things were going here. Everything good? You and Clarel haven't had a falling out, have you?"

"Clarel is a wonderful assistant," Pheus says smoothly, as if describing a favourite pet. "Just wonderful. And she's got the most charming accent- Quebecois?"

"Mhm," says Marian. "I just ask, cause I just thought I saw our on-set Key running off to fetch you something from crafty. Kind of thought that's what a personal assistant is supposed to do, you know?"

Pheus blinks, and laughs. "You make it sound so sinister _._  No, I think it's sweet, you- ah, sticking up for the little guy, I guess? It shows you have a lot of _potential_  for your position."

"I'm honestly just curious," Marian says, grinning with maybe just a few too many teeth. 

"It's nothing against Clarel," Pheus shrugs. "But that PA makes tea the way it's _supposed_  to be made, you know? We English are very particular about our tea. Even if he is Irish, he does a beautiful job."

Marian blinks, and has to actively admire the Pheus's vintage discrimination against the Irish for a moment. _The dedication to douchery is incredible._  "I thought he was from London."

"Many have lived in London who are not _from_  London," Pheus says, shrugging. "You can hear the Dublin in his voice if your ears are trained for such things. At any rate, it's just a nice little favour he does for me from time to time. Isn't that right?"

The last comment is aimed over Marian's shoulder, and she glances back to see Mahanon standing at the mouth of the tent, tea in hand and looking determinedly polite. 

"I'm actually from Waterford," he says, stepping into the tent and passing Pheus his little paper cup. "And a lot of us came up and over from Turkey a few generations back. What are we talking about?"

"Nothing much," Pheus says dismissively, taking the tea. "Thank you for this. You ever thought about acting, Mahanon? You certainly have the face for it. It's a... _character_ face."

Mahanon's "character" face stays congenial, but Marian can see him starting to flush a little. "I- um. I don't know."

"Well, keep bringing me tea, and if you ever decide you do want to get in the game, I could see what I could do for you," Pheus says with a broad smile, cold eyes glinting. "No guarantees, of course."

"Thanks," says Mahanon, a little flatly. "I'm- I'll be on-set, if- yeah."

He leaves, shoulders slumped a little, and the urge to tip Pheus's chair over and pour that tea all over his smug little face is momentarily overwhelming for Marian.

"That was magnanimous of you," she says eventually.

"It's what I've come to love about this production," Pheus says, returning to his phone with a little smirk. "So many of you youngsters running about, really taking advantage of this wonderful opportunity afforded to you. I just want to help out however I can, given my years of experience." He glances up at Marian, and cocks his head. "How old are you, anyway? I've been meaning to ask."

Marian blinks, long and slow, and answers, "Ancient."

Pheus raises his tea to her in a mock salute. Marian turns on her heel and leaves.

Outside the tent and a few paces away, under the shadow of several large cedars, Mahanon mutters to someone on his walkie, his cheeks still flushed with embarrassment. He doesn't look at Marian as she leans up against the bark of one of the trees, waiting for him to finish.

"...and if you could check to see if Merrill needs a spell-off, that would be great- she's been stuck at background holding for a while. Okay. Copy that. Back to one." He fiddles with the dial of his walkie for a moment, then says quietly, "That wasn't exactly fun."

"Make sure you're not keyed up," Marian says. He listens for a moment, and gives her a thumbs up. "He's a dick. Codename Dickbag. Or- I don't know, maybe you've got like, a British word for him. " _Wank-ah_ ," or whatever."

"'Dickbag' works fine," says Mahanon, looking pained at Marian's attempt at a... _something_ accent. "It's fine, Marian. A lot of ac- a lot of people in his position have that, you know, posh arrogance or whatever, right? It wasn't personal."

"Fuck right it wasn't personal," says Marian with a snort. "I'm pretty sure he knows who you are, kid. That was like, Grade-A rubbing your face in shit. I say that as a person who has rubbed people's face in shit, I know what it looks like."

"God, not literally, I hope?"

"Only for lack of opportunity, not for lack of wanting very badly to do it."

"Jesus." Mahanon shook his head. "If he has a problem with me, I can't imagine why. I double-checked, we haven't worked on anything together. I can't think of anything I could have done to him to get him all... I don't know."

"I think he just likes having power over people," Marian says with a sigh, rubbing her temple. "You know, it gives him a little sadistic kick making the ex-actor cousin of the executive producer run around for him. He's an asshole. Can't you get one of your boyfriends to beat him up, just to make me feel better?"

"I wish," says Mahanon, with obvious feeling. There's a crackle over the radio and Mahanon pauses a moment, listening. "Fuck. Sorry Marian, I'll be right back. Please don't do anything scary while I'm gone, or- or tell my cousin, or something."

"Girl Guide's honour," Marian says, not adding that she was only in Girl Guide's for one year when she was nine, and ended up being politely asked to leave after earning no badges and showing the fellow Brownies what happens when you combine Coke and Mentos during a camping trip. 

Mahanon, not knowing any of this backstory, looks far from reassured regardless, and casts Marian a distinctly baleful look before taking off back into the fray of set.

Marian snorts and looks to her phone, scrolling through her new e-mails and texts. There's a message from Bela saying she's crashing up in Whistler for the night, which- Marian had no fucking clue her girlfriend was out of town, but that's kind of par for the course with Bela. There's a message from Garrett explaining Aveline's minor breakdown of a few hours ago, an e-mail from Alaine about Monday's conference call, an e-mail complaining about the budget from costumes-

"Are you _deaf?_ "

Marian blinks, and looks up.

Standing in her face is a man a year or two younger than herself, sides in hand, looking thoroughly irritated as he gestures angrily at her phone.

"Look, I get it; you're new here, I'm new here, we're all new here. But when we call for _locations_  to come help us move shit on set, we don't mean stand around on your phone doing shit-all. You're not just here to hold up a tree and look pretty." Marian just stares, and the man straightens, folding his arms. "Am I gonna have to get the ALM involved? I can see to it that you get blacklisted, you know."

Marian blinks again. Smiles.

"Marian Hawke," she says, holding out a hand. "Production Manager. I take it you were our TAD?"

 

**To: Twigs**

Gear up kid, you've been promoted. You're TAD starting Monday. 

 

**From: Twigs**

I WAS GONE FOR TWO MINUTES

 

-

 

Garrett emerges from Marian's room smelling a little fruitier than he normally would, having grabbed Isabela's shampoo by accident instead of Marian's more neutral Head & Shoulders. The door to the main washroom is still closed, and he can hear Fenris moving about inside, but the water is off so he imagines he'll be coming out soon. 

He rounds into the kitchen to see Bethany putting a bowl in the sink, some kind of pasta sitting in a pan on the stove with plenty left. Garrett looks at his sister, taking in her made-up face, her shoes, and her jacket, and glances at the time. "You going somewhere?"

"A friend from work just got dumped," Bethany says ruefully, pulling a face. "She needs pinot noir and a shoulder to cry on, so I've been called in for duty. I made extra pasta in case you're hungry - just some leftovers thrown together." She tilts her head. "Was that Fenris I caught sight of earlier?"

"Maybe," Garrett says, but there's no helping the smile tugging at his lips. Bethany grins right back at him. In an undertone, Garrett adds, "But pretend you didn't see him. He wanted to shower before interacting with humanity."

"He wanted to- _huh_ ," says Bethany, eyes widening, visibly putting the pieces together and coming to the obvious conclusion as to why a shower had been necessary for both Garrett and Fenris. She looks delighted, then vaguely grossed-out. "God, maybe it's a good thing I wasn't home earlier. Try and keep quiet by the way, Anders got in an hour or two ago and apparently he hasn't slept in three days. You know how he gets."

"Copy that," says Garrett, crossing over to the fridge and fetching out a beer, hoping he might actually get to drink this one instead of wearing it. "It's past midnight, are you okay getting to your friend's place?"

"I've got a taxi coming," says Bethany. Garrett opens his mouth to protest, but Bethany waves him off. "I don't need a ride, brother. You enjoy your little midnight snack with- oh, hello!"

Garrett turns to see Fenris in the doorway of the kitchen, back in his tight jeans but wearing one of Garrett's shirts overtop. He looks oddly fashionable, in a centerfold male-model kind of way, artfully dishevelled and still a little damp from the shower. 

Garrett, conversely, is wearing polka-dot pyjama bottoms and a faded, ancient t-shirt reading "I LOVE THAILAND BECAUSE SOMEONE IN THAILAND LOVE ME" in large block letters.

Fenris looks him over, smirks, and says, "That shirt doesn't strike you as a bit... politically incorrect?"

"In my defence I got it while I was actually in Thailand," Garrett says, as Bethany giggles. "And anyway, it's comfy."

"Has he ever worn it out of the house?" Fenris asks, directing the question to Bethany.

"No," says Garrett.

"Yes," says Bethany.

Garrett casts her a pained look. "Sister, why?"

"Someone has to stand up for the truth, and more importantly, I'm helping Fen stand up to your fashion choices," Bethany says. She startles a little and pulls her phone out from her jacket pocket. "Crap, that's the taxi. Help yourselves to that pasta, it should still be warm."

"You're an angel," says Garrett, as Bethany scurries from the kitchen. "Stay safe, text me when you get there. You know the drill."

"I'm not five, Garrett," calls Bethany, but Garrett knows she'll be texting him anyway.

He turns back to Fenris, who's still eyeing Garrett's shirt a little like he's imagining burning it. Garrett's gaze drifts up to Fenris's drying hair, and he grins. "Fluffy."

Fenris's eyes snap up from Garrett's shirt, looking adorably bemused. "What?"

"Your hair," says Garrett, stepping forward and reaching up to play with one of Fenris's drying, snowy locks. "It's drying all fluffy and wavy. Do you straighten it or something?"

"It usually settles on its own," says Fenris, sounding a little pained, though he starts to blush as Garrett continues to fondle his hair, stepping in closer. 

"It's cute," says Garrett, and Fenris scowls. "You smell good."

"Likely because I grabbed your shampoo instead of Anders'," says Fenris wryly.

"How did you know which was which?"

"Process of elimination. One boasted all-natural, all-organic hemp oil as its main ingredient and had a marijuana leaf on the front of it. The other one was Irish Spring. Did I guess wrong?"

"You didn't," says Garrett, grinning. He tucks some of Fenris's hair behind his ear. "Can I kiss you?"

Fenris rolls his eyes a little, but he smiles, and leans up to press his lips to Garrett's sweetly. Whispering against Garrett's mouth, he says, "You smell very... pretty."

"It's a mango-strawberry blend," replies Garrett in the lowest, sexiest campy growl he can manage. Fenris laughs. "Drives all the ladies wild. And the dudes. And the nonbinary folks."

"And the bees, most likely," quips Fenris, brushing another small kiss against Garrett's lips. He relaxes back on his heels and looks up at Garrett, something soft and fond in his expression that makes Garrett a little weak in the knees. "I heard something about pasta?"

"On the stove," says Garrett, and Fenris nods, reaching around Garrett to snag a bowl and a fork from the drain tray. "Oh, and apparently we've got to be quiet because Anders is sleeping."

Fenris snorts, crossing over to the stove and helping himself to a generous amount of whatever Bethany's cooked up from the leftovers. "I will bear that in mind."

Garrett's phone buzzes, and Garrett fishes it out of the pocket of his pyjama pants as Fenris passes by. 

"Living room?"

"I'll be right there," says Garrett.

**From: RULE63ME**

You would not believe tonight's bullshit. I want to kill our lead. I know I always do but I really want to kill him Garrett. Tell me there's still Thai food at home.

 

Garrett winces, taking a sip of his beer, and glances over to the sink. Sure enough, a few empty tupperware containers reveal that last night's takeout has been sacrificed to Bethany's pasta experiment.

 

**To: RULE63ME**

it's been transformed. chopped-style.

 

**From: RULE63ME**

Nooooooo!!!! Dammit Garrett I'm craving satay.

 

**To: RULE63ME**

I guess you can't get no... satay-sfaction?

 

**From: RULE63ME**

I'm going to kick your fucking ass when I get home.

 

Garrett grins at that, but there's something niggling at him. A sense that he's forgotten something really vitally important. 

He snatches up his own bowl from the drain tray and starts serving himself pasta, the spicy notes of Thai sauce weaved through whatever else Bethany's put in there. His stomach rumbles at the scent, and he remembers how good the Thai spread was last night, how Bethany was saying that this restaurant had the best chicken satay, how their peanut sauce was to die for-

He freezes.

Freezes, and remembers a few months ago, offering Fenris a bag of peanut butter cookies. Fenris turning them down because-

" _Fen!_ " he shouts, dropping his bowl and bolting from the kitchen into the living room _._  "Fen, don't eat the-"

Fenris, standing by the armchair with a hand to his lips, frowning, looks up at Garrett - alarmed, then confused.

"How bad is your peanut allergy?" Garrett asks weakly.

Fenris's eyes widen, and he looks back down at his half-eaten pasta with sudden understanding. He closes his eyes, head falling back on his shoulders, almost looking more exasperated than anything else. " _Fuck._ "

Garrett turns and sprints out of the room, down the hallway to Anders' closed door. He tries to open it, but Andy's gone and locked it, so he settles for pounding on the door. "Andy, Andy, _Andy-!_ "

The door is hauled open and Anders stands there, red-eyed and his blond hair wild around his face, looking ready to kill.

" _Three days_ , Garrett," Andy snaps. "That's how long I haven't fucking slept, you-"

"Fen is allergic to peanuts," Garrett says, his voice tight and pleading.

It's all he has to say. 

Instantly Anders snaps to attention, stooping down to snatch up the hefty first aid kit he keeps by the door of his room, his voice crisp as he asks, "Where is he?"

"Living room," Garrett says, and Andy brushes past him, kit in hand. "I don't know how bad it is-"

"Where's his Epipen?"

"He doesn't have one."

"Of fucking _course_  he doesn't," Anders growls, rounding the corner into the living room. "Fucking suicidal _moron-_ "

Garrett stops listening as he catches sight of Fenris sitting in the armchair, his face ashen and his entire frame shaking a little. He seems to be swallowing awkwardly, and often, his breaths sounding tight and his tone entirely unconvincing as he looks between Garrett and Anders and says, "I'm _fine._  I don't-"

He lets out a cough that sounds more like a wheeze. 

"I'll be the judge of that," Anders says, unzipping his kit and pulling out a flashlight. "Open your mouth." The glare that Fenris shoots Anders' way is utterly poisonous, and Anders lets out an exasperated huff. "For fuck's sake, man, let me see if you're dying or not. Garrett, call 911."

" _Don't_ ," Fenris says, looking very suddenly stricken, causing Garrett to pause in his process of pulling out his phone. 

"Fen, what-?"

" _Open your mouth_ ," Anders interrupts sharply. Fenris doesn't take his eyes off Garrett, but opens his mouth and lets Anders shine the light down his throat.

Whatever Anders sees, it causes his expression to settle into a mask of calm authority, a nurse's professionalism, and that scares Garrett more than anything. 

"Garrett, call 911," Anders repeats, stowing his flashlight. "Fen, answer me with absolute honesty, have you taken anything tonight? Are you on any medication?"

"Cipralex and Welbutrin, _don't fucking call 911_."

It's clear from Fenris's voice how hard it's become for him to breathe, and as Garrett watches he sways a little in his seat, eyes losing focus for a moment. 

Then Anders produces an odd plastic tube tipped with a blue cap at one end, an orange tip at the other. In one smooth movement he yanks off the blue cap and stabs the orange end into Fenris's thigh. 

Fenris jolts forward with a hiss and a curse, which Anders ignores, keeping the Epipen steady as he turns to speak to Garrett. "If we don't get him to a hospital, he could die."

Garrett starts to dial. 

Fenris, seeing this, reaches up and slaps the phone out of Garrett's hands, a horrifically desperate look on his face. " _Don't._ "

"Are you fucking certifiable?" Anders snaps, yanking the Epipen out of Fenris's leg and tossing it aside. "Do you _want_  to die?"

"I c-can't go to a hospital," Fenris says, shivering. Garrett glances down in alarm as his leg starts jittering on the spot, but Anders catches sight of this and waves Garrett off. 

"It's the adrenalin from the shot, _call 911._  Look, Fenris, I don't know what your fucking problem is-"

"I'm not from here."

Garrett retrieves his phone and glances back to see Anders' face soften into something resembling frustrated sympathy. "Okay, I get it, hospital bills are a bitch, but-"

"I can't-" Fenris swallows again, and shakes his head. "I- I'm not a- I don't have a visa."

For an incredibly stupid moment, Garrett thinks Fenris means the credit card. He's about to offer his own when Anders cuts in, his voice flat.

"You're an illegal immigrant."

Garrett stares at Anders, then Fenris.  

Fenris looks incredibly, heartbreakingly small in that moment, sick and shaking, his eyes darting between Anders and Garrett and back as if they've suddenly become dangerous. Then, with the smallest of movements, he nods. 

Anders sucks in a long breath, closing his eyes. He opens them, an intensity in his gaze that Garrett's never seen before, and finds... well, more than a little intimidating, actually.

"Listen to me carefully, and know that if you lie to me I will do everything in my power to make your life a living hell," Anders says through his teeth, eyes hard as he looks at Fenris. "Are you in danger if you get deported? And I don't mean, serving time for traffic charges or whatever. I mean actual, physical danger."

Fenris's hands tighten into fists, clenching the fabric of Garrett's shirtsleeves in his grasp. He looks at Garrett, then back at Anders.

He nods.

"Fucking shit fuck," Anders says, getting to his feet and running his hands through his hair. "Fuck. Okay. Garrett, get him into the car. We're driving to St Paul's."

Fenris's eyes widen, and he shakes his head. "I can't-"

" _What part of "you're dying" isn't clear to you?_ " Anders says, shouting a little, and Fenris shuts up, his glare vicious as he stares at Anders. "I'm not fucking letting you die because you're a fucking idiot. I am actually going to try very very hard to keep you alive at the risk of my _job_ , so you can just- just fucking get in the car and focus on breathing and not being an asshole, okay?"

Garrett is already tucking his phone into his pants, leaning over to scoop Fenris up into his arms. Fenris is stiff and shaking, possibly from more than the reaction and the adrenalin, now. 

As Garrett pauses in his dash to the car to slide some shoes on, Fenris quietly says, "Sorry. F-fuck, I'm so sorry."

"It's going to be okay," Garrett says, more because he wants it to be, than because he truly believes it. "One thing at a time." 

Fenris coughs, and shivers. Garrett somehow maneuvers the door open and gets them over to the car, setting Fenris down carefully and opening the door for him. 

Then, a little helplessly, he leans down and kisses Fenris, his lips dry and his skin cold and damp with sweat, breath still coming in wheezes. "You're not allowed to die, okay? You're just- you're not."

Fenris blinks up at Garrett, and manages a shaky little smile. "I'll k-keep that in mind."

" _This is not the time for a Nicholas Sparks moment._ "

And that's Anders, climbing into the backseat on the other side of the car, a phone to his ear as he scowls at both of them. Garrett kisses Fenris's temple, then closes the door, clambering into the front seat and starting up the car.

"You can't have gotten that medication without help," Anders says to Fenris, as Garrett peals out of the driveway. "Whoever's fencing for you, we're probably going to need their help. Give them Garrett's number."

Garrett glances into the rearview mirror, unsurprised to see a pair of green eyes staring back at him, hesitant. Then Fenris looks away, and pulls out his phone. 

As Fenris calls... someone, Garrett's bet is on his mysterious friend, Anders keeps his phone to his ear murmuring a quiet " _come on, come on_ " under his breath. There's a click, then a tinny voice answers on the other end, and Anders huffs a quick breath, obviously relieved. "Karl, I'm sorry, but I need your help. I've got a patient coming in who's going into anaphylactic shock, but..."

Garrett tunes it out, keeping his eyes on the road, and glancing back occasionally to look at Fenris. He doesn't seem to reach whoever it is he's calling, and doesn't leave a message, texting them instead with shaking hands.

"How're you doing?" Garrett asks.

"I'm breathing," Fenris answers. 

So that's something, at least.

"-about five minutes ago, but I don't know how long it's going to last. I have a second dose here if he starts going under again, but- yeah, I know. Karl, believe me, I know, but I don't think we can risk it. Okay. We're about ten minutes out. Alright. Thank you." Anders hangs up, stuffing the phone into his pocket, and pulls out the flashlight again. "Let me take a look."

Fenris looks at the flashlight like it's personally offended him in some way, but is a little quicker in opening his mouth for Anders, who peers in with a frown. 

"Wrist," Anders says brusquely, putting the flashlight aside. Fenris holds it out for him, and flinches as Anders presses his fingers to Fenris's pulse. "Okay, so you're taking the epinephrine well, but I don't know how long it's going to last. When was the last time you had a reaction like this?"

"I don't know."

"Oh, for fuck's sake-"

"He honestly doesn't know, Andy," says Garrett, remembering what Fenris told him of his memory loss. 

Andy takes a breath and says, "Okay. Any allergies to medication?"

"No."

The back and forth continues for a while, standard medical questions as Garrett focuses on driving.

Doesn't focus on what he's just learned.

_Are you in danger, Fenris?_

It shouldn't surprise him that the answer is yes. It shouldn't surprise him that Fenris's past is something he's literally had to run away from. God, the more he thinks about it, so much of Fenris's behaviour makes sense. Of course Fenris would be slow to trust - not just because he had a bad relationship, but because he could be forced to leave the country. 

Because he could be forced back into that shady, shadowy, painful past. 

Then, thank _God_ , they're pulling up to St Paul's emergency entrance, maneuvering in between ambulances to get as close to the double doors as possible.

"You can't park here," says Anders to Garrett, bailing out of the car, his phone back up to his ear. "Hey, we're here. Right at the entrance to- okay, good."

Garrett puts the car in park and all but throws himself out of the driver's seat, coming around to Fenris's side and opening the door for him. Fenris gazes up at him a little wearily. "I guess I can't convince you not t-to carry me?"

"Nope," says Garrett, and sweeps Fenris up into his arms again. 

Fenris lets out a groan that turns into a wheeze, and his hand comes up to his throat.

"Andy, he's-"

"I hear it. They've got a stretcher waiting for him just inside, come on."

It's a little dramatic, the way they burst through the double doors, Fenris starting to choke again in Garrett's arms and Anders calling out orders like something out of _House_ as another nurse rushes a stretcher over, an IV pole in hand. The only thing undermining the gravity of it all is Garrett's polka dot pyjama pants and Anders' Garfield slippers that Marian got him for Christmas. Otherwise, it honestly feels a little like a movie, like Garrett's watching it all happen to someone else.

He lowers Fenris onto the stretcher as Anders produces another shot of epinephrine, seemingly from nowhere, and stabs it into Fenris's other leg. Fenris grimaces at this, scowling at Anders and gasping out, "I think you're enjoying doing that a bit too m-much."

"Life's about the simple pleasures," Anders mutters. "Garrett, I wasn't kidding earlier, you really can't let the car idle in the emergency area." Softer, he says, "We got him here, that's the important thing. We're going to look after him."

Garrett looks from Anders to Fenris, and Fenris doesn't seem any keener on Garrett leaving that Garrett is. His eyes still have that cagey look, that fear that Garrett honestly can't touch with his limited experiences. 

"I'm going to be right back, I promise," Garrett says to Fenris, gripping his hand tightly. "I'm not leaving you here. Okay?"

Fenris stares at him, and nods. 

Garrett squeezes his hand, and lets go, fighting every screaming instinct demanding that he stay to turn on his heel and walk back out the double doors. 

Finding parking proves to be an absolute bitch of an experience, and he winds up in the underground lot under the hospital. He curses his way through finding a spot, paying the ridiculous parking fee, and running around in circles trying to find a way back up to the hospital. 

So it's a few minutes before he finally emerges, half-walking, half-jogging back to the emergency room, and that's when his phone buzzes. 

He pulls it out, hoping for an update from Anders, and instead-

He stops short, utterly thrown.

_(1) missed call from Seb._

Staring at his phone like it might suddenly grow teeth and bite him, Garrett continues forward again, head spinning a little. _Why in the ever-loving fuck would Sebastian Vael be calling me at one in the morning?_

He turns the corner into the triage area, panic clutching his heart when Fenris is nowhere to be found. 

He looks around and catches sight of a nurse, quickly hurrying over. "Hi, um, my- my friend was in here a few minutes ago-"

"The guy with the allergy? He's been wheeled into A&E." The nurse points to another set of double doors, but catches Garrett's arm as he moves toward them. "Sorry, only patients and doctors are allowed in there. You'll have to wait out here."

"But-" Garrett says, only to be interrupted by his phone buzzing to life again.

He turns away from the nurse, looking down at his phone to see not Anders, as he'd hoped, but Sebastian. _Again._  

Scowling and entirely unamused, Garrett answers.

"Look, I don't know what the fuck is up with you tonight, but I'm _really_  not having the best time right now-"

" _How's Fenris?_ "

Garrett freezes, feeling very much like he's just had a bucket of ice water dumped on him while ploughing directly into a cement wall, face-first. "What?"

" _I got his message, Garrett, I'm on the way to the hospital right now. Is he going to be alright? What happened?_ "

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> LOTS OF THINGS ON THIS CHAPTER! IMPORTANT SHIT FIRST:
> 
> \- So unfortunately Fenris's little run-in with killer pasta is based on a real-life experience. Namely my own. At the end of a first date. I spent the ride to the hospital making bad puns and hitting on the girl whose roommate added Thai leftovers to our dinner without realizing it could kill me, but it was a genuine near-death experience and not one I'd like to repeat. THAT BEING SAID, HERE'S A LITTLE ALLERGY PSA FROM FOXNONNY!
> 
> \- In Canada, very fucking luckily, the Epipen overpricing bullshit hasn't reached us because our medical system isn't privatized. If you have a bad allergy, for the love of God get a goddamn Epipen, I probably would not be here if I didn't have mine. 
> 
> \- If someone you're with starts reacting badly to what they've eaten, call!!! 911!!!! Because here's the thing, you can stab them with an Epipen and the symptoms will calm down, but it only buys you time to get to a hospital. Some people will start going back into shock as soon as fifteen minutes after the injection. That's why they have another epinephrine brand called Twinject, which has two doses of the stuff, just in case.
> 
> \- Symptoms of anaphylaxis can vary. A lot of people are familiar with the cutaneous reaction of swelling up like a balloon, but that doesn't happen to everyone. For me, the only thing that got puffy was my upper lip. Instead I was pale, sweaty, shaky, and I had serious breathing problems. I almost blacked out a few times, including while I was trying to administer my Epipen. I ended up having to hand it off to my date and walk her through it because I was too weak to do it myself.
> 
> \- SPEAKING OF: HOW TO USE AN EPIPEN! They make it really simple, like super foolproof. You open the canister, pull out the Epipen, haul off the blue cap (think of it like a grenade pin), and stab the orange part into the anaphylactic person's leg. And I genuinely mean stab, by the way. It's spring-loaded, so it needs a certain amount of pressure to work - I had bruises on my legs from multiple epinephrine injections. Keep it in the person's leg for at least ten seconds to make sure it gets into them - a lot of people forget this part. It won't work if it's expired, so if you're a person with an Epipen, make sure you keep it up to date. It's a pain in the ass, literally, but it could save your life. 
> 
> OKAY ENOUGH ABOUT EPIPENS. If anyone has any questions about allergy shit, drop me a line at foxnonny.tumblr.com and I'll answer as best as I can!
> 
> \- That "I Love Thailand" t-shirt is real. I own it. I can post a picture of it if people want. My uncle brought it back for me from Thailand. 
> 
> \- There are a lot of actors who are sweet and kind and not douches. I have also encountered Corey Pheus levels of douchedom. #dualityofman
> 
> \- I once had a TAD that told me to get a pregnancy test from crafty when he found out that I was sick. He also reached out and patted a fellow PA's stomach and asked her if she had a beer belly. He was eventually fired.
> 
> \- REVELATIONS GUYS, I'VE BEEN WAITING ON THIS REVEAL FOR 19 CHAPTERS. Next chapter has some wonderfully awkward Garrett-Sebastian reunion moments, so, you know. Fasten your seatbelts, et all. 
> 
> As always I feel a burning need to thank everyone for their love and support and comments because y'all are like an Epipen for the heart (only please do not stab anyone in the heart with an Epipen, it will 100% kill them. Pulp Fiction has a lot to answer for).


	20. A Nutty Night 2: Timmies Never Sleeps

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I SHOULD BE GOING TO CLASS BUT I'M DOING THIS INSTEAD BECAUSE MY PRIORITIES ARE BUNK I'M GONNA BE LATE

**From: RULE63ME**

Where the fuck is everyone. If this is a surprise party you're all supposed to jump out at some point.

 

**To: RULE63ME**

kind of complicated could you do me a favour I know you're tired but if you could toss out every peanut related product we have and possibly bleach the house it would be much appreciated

 

**From: RULE63ME**

...where are you?

 

**To: RULE63ME**

the hospital 

 

**From: RULE63ME**

The fuck are you okay?

 

**To: RULE63ME**

I'm okay but fen's allergic to peanuts and well

 

**From: RULE63ME**

Oh shit

 

**To: RULE63ME**

gotta go seb's here thank u for doing the peanut extraction thing

 

**From: RULE63ME**

Wait what the fuck

 

**From: RULE63ME**

Seb like *Seb* Seb?? What???

 

**From: RULE63ME**

Dammit Garrett what??????

 

Too much of Sebastian is so painfully, viscerally familiar, for Garrett not to feel a familiar pang of hurt and anger as his very, very much _ex_ -boyfriend pushes his way through the doors of the waiting room, face grim and set.

His hair's a little shorter, but still thick and red and wavy, like a movie star's. He's still got a smattering of freckles over the bridge of his nose - not over his nose, up his cheeks, and down his arms like Garrett, but a tasteful splash, and Garrett remembers kissing each one. Those piercing blue eyes are just the same, but Garrett remembers what they look like when they're warm, and soft.

The jacket, pants, and shoes are new, but the shirt is not. He looks painfully put-together, despite his obvious worry.

Garrett remembers that he's wearing a faded, politically questionable ragged t-shirt and polka dot pyjama pants, and kind of wants to die a little. 

Seb's eyes land on Garrett, and visibly take in the shirt, and the pants, and the crocs that Garrett had chosen in a blind panic, and his mouth thins a little. Wisely and mercifully, he says nothing about Garrett's wardrobe upon reaching him. 

"Anything, yet?" Seb asks quietly, and aside from the phone conversation that was largely a lot of shocked silence on Garrett's end, and irritatingly calm maturity on Seb's, these are the first words spoken between them in two years. Despite the fact that they're both standing in a hospital waiting on news of their potentially dying friend and, in Garrett's case, boyfriend and probable love of his goddamn life, it's oddly anticlimactic. 

Garrett shakes his head, both to answer Seb's question and to clear his own thoughts. "It's been almost twenty minutes, I'm sure someone will be out soon, right? Fuck, I don't know anything about allergies."

"I didn't know his was this bad," said Seb, rubbing his temple and that- Jesus, even that has an effect, because Garrett _knows_  that look, and that gesture, still, like he knows the back of his own hand. "I would have bullied him into carrying an Epipen around, for all the good it would have done- fuck, but he's a stubborn bastard."

Garrett snorts at that, because it's true, and for a strange moment it's oddly comforting to be standing with someone who _knows_  Fenris, even if that person is Sebastian fucking Vael. 

And it occurs to Garrett, if Seb is really the mysterious friend that Fenris has been hedging about for months, he probably knows Fenris better than Garrett does. He tries, unsuccessfully, not to let this idea burrow under his skin too much.

A moment passes, and the silence is awkward as all shit, but given that Garrett looks like a cross between a creepy sex tourist and a circus clown he's not exactly looking to draw attention to himself by making a scene.

Finally, deciding to hurl himself right into the thick of it because why fucking not, Garrett asks, "Did you know?"

Seb looks a little startled at the question, and replies, "I knew he was seeing someone, but not- I only found out when I called the number he sent me and got your voicemail. Didn't believe it, really, until I heard your voice."

The major thing to digest here, stupidly, is that Seb deleted his number. Of course he did. It's what Garrett should have done, after all, but the fact that he didn't and Seb did just digs that hurt and irritation a little deeper. 

He almost misses it when Seb asks, "Did you?"

"Fuck no," Garrett says, possibly with a little too much feeling, and Seb winces. "I just knew he had a friend that he was close with."

He carefully doesn't say "best" friend, because while it's probably true... well, it's just a little too much to think about right now. 

"So I guess we can assume that _he_  didn't know," Seb says wearily. "It's quite a very _small_  world, isn't it?"

"Lilliputian," says Garrett flatly.

Another awkward pause. The chirping of crickets is probably just Garrett's imagination, or feedback from some nearby medical equipment, but he largely expects that the universe is honestly just taking potshots at him now and wouldn't doubt it if there was an honest to God cricket chorus somewhere nearby.

"So you knew Fenris was dating someone," Garrett says to break the silence, then catches up with where his mouth is going and fuck, no, shit, this was a bad idea but he couldn't quite stop the runaway train that was this particular line of questioning. "Did you... know he was dating a man?"

Seb's eyes narrow, his voice even but short as he responds, "Yes."

_Don't fucking say it, man._

"And you approved?"

Seb's face slips into another, far too familiar expression - cold exasperation. "I'm not doing this here, Garrett."

Garrett bristles at that, at being spoken to like a child, and fuck- Seb would always _do_  that, taking the side of the wise and reasonable adult in arguments, sometimes right after playing a round of Drunk Jenga or suggesting they prank the neighbours who were always leaving dog shit on their front yard by leaving a flaming bag of dogshit on their doormat. "I think it's a fair question, Seb."

"I'm not arguing with you while one of my best friends is receiving emergency care," Seb snaps quietly. 

"He's my _boyfriend_ , you're not the only one with stakes in this."

"Of what, all of two months?"

"You-"

Their heads snap up at the sound of the double doors to the A&E area opening, and there stands Anders, now wearing a borrowed pair of scrubs that seem simultaneously too large and too short for him, hanging off his shoulders but not quite reaching past his ankles.

Seb and Garrett stare at Anders. Anders stares at them.

After recovering from the shock of seeing Seb, Anders approaches carefully, like someone inching towards a firecracker that has reached the end of its fuse but has yet to explode for mysterious and unpredictable reasons. 

"You didn't call him for emotional support, right?" Anders says dubiously to Garrett, once he's in a conversational range.

Garrett opens his mouth to reply, only for Seb to cut in. "How's Fenris? Is he alright?"

Anders blinks, clearly thrown. Garrett supplies wearily, "He's the one who's been helping Fen."

Anders gapes.

Then he starts to laugh.

And for the first time in two years, Garrett feels a sense of solidarity with Sebastian Vael. They both stand there, red-faced, arms folded, and incredibly unamused as Anders laughs, and laughs, doubling over in his ill-fitting scrubs, like he honestly can't stop.

Eventually he straightens, red-faced and teary-eyed, still releasing the occasional snort and giggle like he's ready to collapse into fits again.

"Of- _snrt-_ of fucking course," he wheezes, wiping at his eyes. "Of fucking course Fenris would- dear God. Okay. Sorry, I haven't slept in three days-"

"So I heard," says Garrett. 

"I don't care," says Sebastian.

(Which, come to think of it, pretty much summed up Anders' and Sebastian's relationship even before Sebastian broke up with Garrett.)

"Okay, okay, sorry- to Garrett, not you, you're the worst," says Anders, sobering a little. Seb narrows his eyes. "Fenris, right. Okay, we're never supposed to make guarantees because sometimes there are freak outliers with this shit, but given my experience with these cases I feel pretty fucking confident in saying that he's going to be fine."

Garrett sags a little, releasing a breath he wasn't aware he was holding. At his side, Seb mutters a quiet "Thank God."

"Where is he now?" asks Garrett. 

"We have him parked in the hallway back there - not ideal, but you know how it is. He's lucky he's got a bed. He was feeling well enough to threaten to stab me in the eye with a hypodermic needle when I told him he had to change into a hospital gown." Anders grimaces. "He's a charmer, that one. Anyway, we've got him on a steroid drip. We're gonna keep him under observation for a few hours, but once we're sure he's not gonna drop three steps out of the hospital, we'll let him go."

"Can I see him?" ask Garrett and Sebastian simultaneously. They cut each other short glares before turning their attention back to Anders, who's watching them both with raised eyebrows. 

"I'm gonna say no, for now, actually," says Anders, raising his hands defensively as Garrett and Sebastian both tense. "I mean for one thing, he's asleep. Those steroids knock people out pretty quickly, and it's probably for the best that we let him nap it off. Less threatening people with eye-gougings that way. As fascinating as I'm sure watching him snore must be, I feel like you two can find better uses for your time."

"Like what?" Seb says shortly. 

"There's a 24-hour Tim Hortons a block down the street," says Anders. "So I suggest you two go there and work this shit out before Fenris wakes up. Yeah?"

Seb and Garrett glance at each other, stone-faced, and nod.

"You'll call us if anything changes?" Garrett says to Anders. 

"If I don't drop dead from sleep deprivation, sure," says Anders. "Did I mention I haven't slept in-?"

But before Anders can finish his sentence, Garrett and Seb have turned on their respective heels and are stalking out the front door.

-

The walk to Timmies is stiff and silent.

Garrett shivers a little in the cool night air, feeling every hole in his stupid t-shirt. Burrard Street isn't exactly bustling at 1:30 a.m. on a Thursday night, but there are pockets of humanity here and there, smoking on sidewalks or bundled up in the dark corners of buildings. Garrett watches Seb clock every person they pass, brows heavy with unspoken empathy for the homeless and the lost, and fuck, this is what Garrett liked- no, to call a spade a spade, what he _loved_  about Sebastian. How he saw people. How he accounted for them, how he wanted, always, to _help_. 

Which is why it was so painful, so disappointing, that Seb left how he did, thinking that something so natural and healthy between them was sinful. Something to be ashamed of, disgusted by.

But still, remembering this about Seb, and remembering how Fenris talked about Seb - which, fuck, it's so jarring now, applying Fenris's words about his friend to _Seb -_  makes it harder to stay pissy with him. 

Harder, still, when he remembers one of the first things Fen told him about his friend- about _Seb_ , damn it. That he'd been encouraging Fenris to get out more, to make more connections, to _live._  There's a chance, Garrett knows, that the only reason Fenris took the risk with Garrett was because of Seb's advice. All irony aside... well, it's worth keeping in mind.

Sebastian orders a french vanilla at the counter from a tired woman who does not do a very good job of keeping her eyes off Garrett's pyjamas. Garrett was going to order a french vanilla, but can't, now, without looking unoriginal, so he orders a hazelnut iced capp instead. And a croissant. 

They gather their shit and take a seat at the least grungiest table, and sit for a long moment. Garrett downs half his iced capp in one go and instantly regrets it, but manages to keep the pain of his brain freeze off his face. 

"I'm sorry," Seb says eventually, startling Garrett a little. His tone is low, and genuine, and rueful, though he seems to be directing this heartfelt apology to his french vanilla. "What you said earlier... I don't think that way anymore. I haven't for quite some time. I regret leaving the way I did, it was- wrong."

"You essentially told me I was going to hell for liking men," Garrett says flatly. "And for lov- for dating you."

"I know," Seb says quietly. He closes his eyes for a moment, then looks up. "Garrett, I'd just lost a dear friend for the first time in my life. I know you were never as close with Wesley as I was, but... I cared for him a great deal. I was raised to believe things, _harmful_  things, about how God's love works. It was all I had to fall back to, when he died."

"You had _me_ ," Garrett says, with a little more force than he was intending, and- fuck, he's over this, isn't he? 

Apparently not, if the sudden thickness in his voice, the sheen in his eyes is anything to go by. _Damn._  He can not be a full-grown man in stupid pyjamas and crocs having a breakdown in a 24-hour Timmies in front of his ex-boyfriend. Not all at once, at any rate.

Seb smiles, a little sadly, as he says, "I regret how I left you, Garrett, I truly do. But... we were never going to make it all the way together. You knew that. It wasn't meant to be."

"I guess we'll never know," Garrett says, admittedly a little bitchily, but... as much as he'd hoped, with Seb, as much as he'd envisioned a future with him, invested his heart in it... some part of him _did_  know "that," in fact. Knew that some of the details were just a little off. But he'd loved Seb, he truly had, and he thought that if you just _loved_  someone enough, everything else would fall into place. 

He doesn't know if he still thinks that now. 

"Tell me something," Seb says, considering Garrett carefully. "Do you love Fenris?"

Garrett freezes a moment, not just from the chill of his drink, and carefully answers, "As you pointed out, we've only been together a few months."

"Garrett, you and I know each other better than either of us are probably likely to admit. We both know it doesn't take you very long." Seb's mouth twists into an odd little smile, and he adds, "I know back there when you asked after him, when you found out he was okay... you wouldn't have looked that way for me."

Garrett doesn't deny it. He can't. The way he loved Seb - truly, and with all his heart - and the way he _loves_  Fenris - also truly, and with all his heart - somehow just aren't comparable. His relationship with Seb checked all the boxes of what a relationship should be: they loved each other, Seb got along with his family, they lived together and laughed and argued just the right amount. For the most part, it was easy.

Not much about his relationship with Fenris would likely count as "easy." It requires thought and attention, from both of them, to move forward, and there are some days when Fenris goes places in his mind that Garrett can't follow. And those days hurt both of them because Fenris wants to be better for Garrett, Garrett wants Fenris to be better for Fenris, and wants to _do_  better for him.

But it never feels like a chore, doing this. It feels like work, but the kind of work that leaves you feeling fulfilled, resolved, motivated. The kind of work with results that give hope for a better day, a better week, a better month. It's in how Fenris offers to bring Garrett coffee at SFU even when it means more human interaction than just going from home to work and back again. It's in how Fenris was there, without asking, on the anniversary of Malcolm's death, and how he tried so hard to give Garrett what he needed. To be what Garrett needed. 

It's in how hours earlier, Fenris chose, absolutely _chose_ , to trust Garrett. To let himself be touched and to trust that it wasn't going to hurt. 

The love Garrett has for Fenris isn't step-by-step, isn't perfect, but it's something that reaches all the way to the very foundations of who he is, and he doubts that's ever going to change. 

"I haven't told him," Garrett says to Seb eventually, unable to meet his eyes. "It would be too much pressure, I think, and I just... I want to give him the time and space to figure things out."

"That's probably wise," Seb says, nodding. "For what it's worth, I've never seen him this- well,  _happy_ , since I found him."

Garrett grimaces. "I doubt he's very happy at the moment."

Seb rolls his eyes, and takes a sip of his coffee. "You know what I mean. He's... settled, in a way he wasn't before. Though it might make things a bit awkward, in all honesty?" Seb smiles, and this time it's entirely real. "I'm glad it was you. I know you'll take care of him."

Garrett swallows very hard at that, and there's- well, there's that old saying about God closing a door and opening a window, or whatever.

There's still a part of him that wants to stay angry with Seb, stay hurt, more because he feels like he _should_ be, than out of any real feeling. He remembers how fucked over and raw he was for so long after Seb left him - after he'd left, and called everything they'd been together abhorrent, excised himself out of Garrett's life like he couldn't stand the disgust of knowing they'd loved each other, once. 

That's not the Sebastian Vael sitting in front of him now, and this man isn't who Garrett dated, either. So much of Garrett's pain was wrapped up in knowing, full-stop, that he'd take Seb back if given the chance, forgive him everything if he would only come home. 

But here he is, Seb, self-assured and sincerely apologetic, and wishing Garrett well. And there's Fenris, who Garrett wants and loves without having to pretend there isn't an expiry date on the relationship.

He feels the door closing on everything he and Sebastian had and were, and it's one hell of a bittersweet farewell, all things considered. But it's better this way. Seb knew it then, and Garrett knows it now. 

"So you think we can work it out?" Garrett asks.

Sebastian tilts his head, wry humour pulling at the corners of his mouth. "I don't think we'll be having each other over for dinner anytime soon, but it's clear we both care about Fenris, in our separate ways. It's a place to start."

Garrett smiles, and toasts Seb with his iced capp, taking a long sip.

Then, because he honestly is too wired to have any control over his mouth whatsoever, he says, "You're not in love with Fen, right?"

Sebastian, in the process of downing some of his french vanilla, chokes.

"No- _no!_ " Seb exclaims, once he's able to breathe again, still coughing. "Good Lord, he's like- he's like my brother, if anything. No, _no_ , there is not going to be any more of a horrendously awkward triangle here than there is already, thank you."

"Just checking," shrugs Garrett, though a part of him is very much relieved. He frowns and adds, "Sorry, did you say you _found_  Fen?"

Seb winces, putting aside his coffee. "I take it he hasn't told you that story."

"He- no, he hasn't. Fuck, I shouldn't have asked, sorry."

Seb clasps his hands together, casting Garrett a rueful look. "I suspect there are things he's told you that he hasn't told me, and vice versa. It's... how he opens up. In bits and pieces. A very, _very_  long story short, Fenris was in a bad place in every sense of the word, when we met. He's come a very long way since then - it's actually fairly extraordinary."

"Okay, well, I'm glad, but that's going to drive me fucking nuts for at least a week, not knowing," Garrett says with a sigh. "I'll cope. Okay, another question, and I swear I'm not trying to violate his privacy or go behind his back or anything, so if I'm overstepping you can tell me, but... back at the house, he listed some medications he was on before Andy got him with the Epipen. It was kind of the farthest fucking thing from my mind at the time, but- I mean, I didn't know he was taking anything. If it's a health thing, I just want to know. One hospital trip is enough, thanks."

Seb seems to weigh the question carefully for a long moment, judging whether or not to reply. Then he shakes his head and says, "I can't see the harm in you knowing if he's already told you, somewhat, but I'd be sensitive about it. It's a combined prescription of Welbutrin and Cipralex. They're commonly used to treat certain, um, mood disorders. And some symptoms of PTSD."

"Oh," says Garrett. He bites his lip. "I mean, that- it makes sense, but- fuck, I shouldn't have asked. Do you have a guy on the inside getting them to you, or something?"

"Not quite," says Sebastian, suddenly looking a little shame-faced. "I, um. Well, according to my medical files, I suffer from a general anxiety disorder as well as clinical depression. Fenris and I have remarkably similar symptoms, only when I pick up 'my' medication, I give it to him."

Garrett blinks, then exclaims, "You're scamming them!"

"Yes, please announce my very illegal transgressions to all of Tim Horton's," mutters Seb, sounding pained. "No one can prove I _don't_  suffer from these mental illnesses, and they help. He's not exactly thrilled about being dependent on me for them, as you can imagine, but they're a large part of how he's made so much progress. It took a lot of bravery on his part to accept that kind of help."

"I get that," Garrett says. He adds softly, "You really have done a lot for him."

"As have you," Seb says. "He talks about you, you know. More than I think he realizes he does."

"All good things?" Garrett says, only a little anxiously. 

"He's complained about the snoring, which honestly should have tipped me off in the first place that it was you." Garrett plants his face in his hands at that, but when he looks up, Seb is smiling reassuringly. "All good things, Garrett. I'll admit I was worried when he first told me he was seeing someone, but I was astonished by how _healthy_  it all seemed. Especially- well, especially when it comes to matters of, ah, intimacy. He hasn't talked to me about his past in that regard, not in detail, but I know it's hard for him. Knowing he can have a romantic relationship with you without the sexual aspect has helped- what?"

Seb's "what" is likely a reaction to Garrett's rapidly reddening face, his expression scrunching up in mixed chagrin paired with a sheepish smile. 

"Before all the shit went down, um," Garrett rubs the back of his head, as Seb stares. "We, uh, we weren't exactly leaving room for Jesus. If you know what I mean."

Seb blinks, then his eyes slip down to stare a little intently at Garrett's neck, and- right, yes. The hickey. It's probably shown up quite well by now.

"Oh," Seb says, and it's really the only thing that can be said. 

They both take very, very long sips from their respective drinks.

Seb drums his fingertips on the table, frowning a little, and asks, a little like he can't help himself, "That was the first-?"

"Uh-huh."

"And it went- it went okay-?"

"Uh-huh."

Seb makes a very peculiar face, looks at Garrett sidelong, and says, "And then you capped off the evening with attempted murder?"

"It wasn't _my_  attempted murder, it was Bethany!" Garrett says, scandalized.

Seb looks very doubtful, and says, "Bethany is the last person I would suspect of attempted murder, Garrett. Even if she were holding a bloody knife and standing over a dead body."

"That's very sweet of you. I'll tell her you said that. _I didn't try to kill Fenris._ "

"Mhm," Seb says, covering the very obvious beginnings of a grin with his coffee cup as he takes another sip. 

Garrett kicks him under the table with a scowl, and Seb laughs. 

They chat for the next few hours, filling up the time surprisingly well. Seb tells Garrett about the church he works for, how finding it helped him come back to a faith that wasn't quite so rigid and hateful, how he counsels those who need it most. Garrett tells Seb about teaching, about Marian and Bethany and Carver and his mother, and recounts the Isabela-imposed dates leading up to his and Fen's first kiss from his side of things. It's awkward at times, stilted at times, and a little painful at times, but... it's working. It works.

Eventually Garrett's phone buzzes in his pocket, and Garrett pulls it out to find a text from Anders.

 

**From: Nurse Andy**

your bf is starting to wake up. pls get here before he reaches full consciousness for his sake, my sake, and the hospital's sake.

 

"I see Anders hasn't changed much," Seb says a little distastefully, after Garrett relays the message and they gather up their things to leave.

"You and him just never got on," Garrett says, shaking his head. "Oil and water, the two of you."

Seb makes a rude noise.

As they leave the Tim Horton's, Garrett says quietly, "Any idea how he's gonna react? Fen, when we- you know, when we tell him."

"Absolutely none," says Seb unhelpfully.

"Fair enough."

-

Anders, who looks a little like an extra off the set of the _Walking Dead_  by this point, wordlessly collects Seb and Garrett from triage and takes them through the doors into A&E. It's a few minutes past true dawn, sunlight starting to lighten the windows, and the hospital is waking from the strange, liminal space of the night shift.

"The busier, the better," Anders murmurs to Garrett and Seb, leading them past a nurses' station and rows of temporary beds and stretchers separated by hanging blue curtains. "Sebastian, we're gonna need you to sign some shit."

Seb nods, and then they're turning a corner, and there's Fenris.

To Anders' credit, it's clear he tried to tuck Fenris away in a quieter part of the hall, lending a little privacy in a very public space. The sight of Fenris sleeping - grey-faced, deep shadows under his eyes, and looking very small lying curled up in a hospital gown with an IV shunt in his hand - makes Garrett's heart flip unpleasantly, and it's all he can do not to gather Fenris up into his arms right there and then to carry him off somewhere quiet and safe.

"He _was_  waking up," Anders mutters. "I'm gonna grab Ka- um, Dr Thekla. You guys get to try to get him up, so... have fun?"

A part of Garrett is a little excited by the prospect of meeting Anders' DILF doctor, and given the situation, it's probably a larger part than is strictly appropriate. 

Seb has taken up post on the other side of the bed, reaching down to touch Fenris's shoulder and pausing for a moment, glancing up at Garrett. "Do you want-?"

"Are we gonna flip a coin on who gets to do it or something?" Garrett asks, a little amused.

Seb shrugs, and grasps Fenris's shoulder in hand, giving it a very slight shake.

It's telling in how Fenris blinks his way into consciousness, looking groggy and disoriented, just how much the night's taken out of him. He squints. "Seb?"

"Good morning," Seb says, sounding relieved, and Garrett can see it - that almost familial affection in Seb's eyes as he looks down at Fenris. It's not dissimilar to how Garrett might look at Carver, or Bethany. 

Fenris's gaze slides over to Garrett, and after a long moment, he quirks something close to a smile. "Does this top your high school date lighting you on fire?"

Garrett laughs, and lets his hand slip into Fenris's, who twines their fingers together. "I'd say so. How're you feeling?"

"Embarrassed, mostly," Fenris says with a wince, propping himself up on his elbows. Seb immediately swoops in to help him sit up. "That was all a little dramatic."

"You almost died," says Seb.

"I almost died from eating a bowl of noodles," Fenris says dryly. "Not exactly what I'd want in my obituary."

His voice is hoarse, but getting stronger with every word, and fuck, Garrett just wants to _kiss_  him.

But that would be a bad idea, probably, what with the Sebastian-shaped elephant in the room, so he just squeezes Fenris's hand a little instead.

As if reading Garrett's mind, Fenris looks from him to Sebastian and back and says, "Sorry, I suppose you two have met by now. Garrett, this is Sebastian. Sebastian-"

"About that-" starts Garrett.

"Fenris-" says Sebastian.

"Did I miss it?"

And that's Anders from behind them, with just a little too much anticipatory glee in his voice. Beside him is a doctor who absolutely, if Garrett were to look up "DILF" on PornHub, would be the star of the first video to pop up. His hair is thick and steel-grey, his beard _magnificent_ , but his face is fairly young. If Garrett were to hazard a guess at his age, he'd place his bets between forty to forty-five, no older but certainly no younger. _Scandalous_.

"Miss what?" asks Fenris with narrowing eyes, either oblivious or indifferent to the appearance of Anders' DILF.

"Thank God," says Anders, grinning. "I'm just gonna stand here and watch the train wreck, then."

"You're a true friend, Andy," Garrett says through slightly gritted teeth. 

"Well, if no one minds, I'm going to get on with discharging the patient," Thekla says, consulting his clipboard with a little sigh. "How are you feeling?"

They quickly move Fenris through a series of tests, checking his blood pressure, breathing, and throat. Fenris's answers to nearly every question are variations on the phrase "I'm fine," said with increasing impatience until he looks ready to rip the IV shunt out himself. Eventually, Thekla straightens up, looking relatively satisfied. 

"Well, it seems like you're out of the woods," Thekla says. "If- Sebastian, was it? - if you could quickly sign this prescription, I'll run and grab a new Epipen, which I _expect_  you'll carry with you at all times from now on."

He's got the tone of fatherly disapproval down pat, and even Fenris seems a little cowed by it, nodding and staring a little shame-faced at the hospital sheets. Sebastian takes the offered clipboard and quickly signs before handing it back to Thekla. 

"There's a little more paperwork to do, but I'll let Nurse Smith run you through it," Thekla says, giving Anders a little nod. His tone and expression remains professional, but his eyes soften a little as he and Andy trade a quick look. He coughs a little, turns, and hurries away.

"It's like a soap opera," Garrett says, hushed and delighted. "Like a super gay medical soap opera. Do you guys make out in janitorial closets? Or- ooh, is it true what they say about the on-call room?"

Anders, who was pinking a little at Thekla's look, scowls. "Oh, you are in _no place_  to talk, Garrett Hawke."

Which is actually very true, but the less-than-subtle reminder of this is not exactly appreciated. Especially as it causes Fenris to give Garrett's wrist a little tug, frowning at him. "What the fuck is he talking about?"

Garrett looks to Seb, whose attention seems a little too focused on the task of signing paperwork than can be believed. Then he looks to Fenris, who seems exhausted and faintly annoyed, but more curious than building towards genuine anger. 

"Um," Garrett says, swallowing hard, and very aware of Anders watching them and all but pulling out a bag of popcorn to munch on. "Uh, Seb and I- we know each other, actually. It's kind of- it's a bit of a long story-"

"We dated for nearly three years," says Seb flatly, not looking up from his task.

Fenris goes very still, and doesn't say anything for a few, unnaturally long seconds that seem to stretch into fucking eternity.

"Garrett's the man you've talked about, isn't he?" Fenris says to Seb, his voice horrifically calm. 

"Mhm," says Seb.

"And... Seb's the ex Marian told me about," Fenris says to Garrett. 

"Probably," says Garrett, tight-voiced and cringing.

Fenris huffs out a very long breath, and says, "Seb, does it bother you that I'm seeing Garrett?"

Seb looks up at this, finally, seeming faintly alarmed. "God, no."

"And Garrett... it doesn't bother you that Sebastian is my friend?"

"Absolutely not," says Garrett firmly.

Fenris nods, brows furrowed in thought, and says, "Alright."

Garrett and Seb stare at each other, then at Fenris, more than a little stunned. Behind them, Anders utters a disappointed little "Aw, what?"

"As previously mentioned, I _did_  nearly almost die tonight at the hands of a midnight snack," Fenris says, raising an eyebrow. "I'm very tired, and I want to go home. If it isn't a problem for either of you, than it isn't a problem for me."

"That's- that's good," Garrett says faintly. "Yeah, let's just- let's get you home."

"Someone should stay with him," Anders says, still seeming a little put-out by Fenris's reaction - or lack thereof - but covering well with professionalism. "At least for the next twelve hours. There are some rare cases where patients slip back into shock after being taken off the IV, and anyway, he's gonna feel like a truck hit him for a few days. I'd offer, because I'm a friend and an overall amazingly charitable human being, but I haven't slept in three-"

"I don't need anyone staying with me," Fenris scowls. "No offence meant, I appreciate everything you all have done for me, but I hardly need to be nursed back to health."

"I don't know if I can take today off," Seb says, biting his lip and pointedly ignoring Fenris. "With the steroids and everything, is there anything he should be avoiding eating or drinking?"

"Peanuts," Anders says, straight-faced, just as Thekla reappears behind him. Without so much as a glance his way, Thekla delivers a little smack up the back of Anders' head, and steps in. 

"You'll have to renew this in a year," Thekla says, handing Fenris a small cardboard box, Epipen rattling inside. In his other hand is a plastic bag, which he sets on the bed next to Fenris. "I also collected your clothes. Has Nurse Smith taken you through what happens next, or was he too busy cracking jokes?"

"Oh, come on," Anders mutters, rubbing the back of his head. 

"Someone needs to stay with Fen," Garrett echoes, and Fenris makes a face. "I have a class and a tutorial today, but I can cancel."

"I don't need-" Fenris starts, breaking off into a hiss as Anders starts to dismantle the IV catheter in his hand, ripping away tape from skin. "Have I _wronged_ you in some way?"

"Yes, but I'm actually being quite gentle," Anders says, working quickly and with clearly practised hands. "Stop being such a wuss."

"Please don't antagonize the patient, Anders," sighs Thekla. "And yes, unfortunately, monitoring is fairly essential. It isn't safe for you to be alone."

Fenris snatches his hand away from Anders the moment he's finished, glaring at him dourly before turning his attention back to the others. "I suppose I don't have a choice."

"Not really, no," Seb says, handing a stack of paperwork over to Thekla. "Garrett, you can stay with him?"

Garrett nods. "I've got the car here, so I can get us back to his place-"

"No," says Fenris shortly. He reddens a little, and says quietly, "I haven't had a chance to clean recently. I'd rather stay at your place, if that's... alright."

"I really don't care if it's messy-" Garrett starts, but stops at the look on Fenris's face. As with many things, even if Garrett doesn't care, Fenris seems to care quite a lot, and he can respect that. "Okay, yeah, my place sounds good. Marian's cleaned it out, so it should be safe for us. Or- well I think she has. Let me check."

"Thank you," Fenris says, and though he's clearly far from thrilled about the situation, his eyes are warm as they meet Garrett's - just for a moment, before he turns to his bag of clothing, shooting Anders a caustic look. "And... thank you. For what you did."

Anders blinks, looking a little thrown, and says, "You're welcome."

"Please go away now. I'm not changing in front of you."

"Oh, like I'd give a f-"

" _Nurse Smith._ "

 

**From: RULE63ME**

This is my thirtieth ignored text message, probably, assuming everyone on your end is alive.

 

**From: RULE63ME**

The peanuts have been evicted. The place has been aired out. I did actually use bleach. I haven't slept in approximately three days.

 

**To: RULE63ME**

oh god don't you start

 

**From: RULE63ME**

HE LIVES

 

**From:** **RULE63ME**

Which could be a radically insensitive thing to say depending on who else is alive or not.

 

**To:** **RULE63ME**

fen is alive! but I'm trying to get him home before he and andy kill each other. dilf is a hot tamale btw 10/10

 

**From:** **RULE63ME**

Fen is alive wash lather rinse repeat fantastic I'm going to bed immediately. Goodnight and if you wake me up when you get in I'll kill you.

 

**To:** **RULE63ME**

good morning and fair enough. want me to snap a stealth picture of andy's hot doc bae?

 

**From:** **RULE63ME**

Garrett how long have we been siblings. You know the answer to that.

 

**To:** **RULE63ME**

*click*

 

**From:** **RULE63ME**

:)

 

**From:** **RULE63ME**

Wait what happened with Seb was it actual Seb?

 

**From:** **RULE63ME**

Garrett????

 

**From:** **RULE63ME**

God fucking damn it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Y'ALL KNOW WHAT TIME IT IS
> 
> \- So Canada has free health care (for citizens) (mostly) (way better than the states though) which is AWESOME. The only downside is that wait times if you're not immediately dying can be up to three hours or more, and even if you are dying, they often don't have room for you. When I was taking my little steroid-induced nap post-peanutgate it happened in the hallway of the A&E section of St Paul's. They didn't let my sister in for a while until I think she might have threatened them with bodily harm, idk. She's short and terrifying, my sister.
> 
> \- LET'S TALK TIMMIES. Guys 24-hour Timmies is a staple of Canadian life. Shit goes down there. I have been at Timmies at midnight, at two in the morning, at four in the morning, like... It's a thing. Also the "french vanilla" mentioned is a french vanilla cappucino, but we just call it a french vanilla. The iced capps, as previously mentioned, are a religious experience.
> 
> \- So at the end of my little hospital stay I asked the question of "hey should I avoid eating or drinking anything" and my nurse dead-ass responded "peanuts" which was probably revenge for my high/drunk/dying ass cracking bad puns every three seconds on the way to the hospital. I was impressed to say the least. 
> 
> AS ALWAYS I REALLY REALLY LOVE ALL OF YOU FOR YOUR COMMENTS AND KINDNESS AND OVERALL SUPPORT AND AMAZINGNESS. Sorry for all the rapid chapter updates, I'm really bad at just letting it marinate in my folders when I've got a chapter done. Love you love you love you <3


	21. Casseroles and Bootytown Action Plans

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> kind of a short chapter to set up incoming plot arcs. also in true foxnonny fashion I'm posting at 4.30 in the goddamn morning.
> 
> also - happy election day americans! please don't put the shouty rancid carrot in the oval office! canada is very worried about you!
> 
> EDIT: good lord the above comment aged like m i l k BUT ALSO HOLY SHIT THERE'S ART AGAIN (I'm 90% sure it's this chapter mumblingelf please correct me if I'm wrong) BECAUSE WE'RE ALL REALLY GODDAMN LUCKY HUMANS BUT ESPECIALLY ME AND I HAVEN'T STOPPED SCREAMING.
> 
> Again please please PLEASE give mumblingelf.tumblr.com a LOT of love, she's a fantastic artist and I'm just... UTTERLY BLOWN AWAY OKAY I'M FLAILING. THANK YOU <3

Fenris doesn't let Garrett carry him out of the hospital to the car.

He also doesn't let Garrett carry him from the car back into the house.

He starts to look a little exasperated as Garrett offers to carry him and two mugs of steaming green tea from the kitchen into his bedroom. 

"If you're looking to work out, I'm sure there are actual weights available," Fenris grouses, though he's leaning on Garrett a little as they make their way into Garrett's bedroom, and he looks ready to fall over. 

"It's not a workout, you weigh like five pounds," Garrett says - though this isn't exactly true. Though slight and small, Fenris is... well, "densely-packed" is the only way Garrett's sleep-deprived brain can think to describe him. He _is_  easy to carry, but only because of his size. Everything hanging off his slight frame seems to be made up of pure muscle. 

Garrett winces at the state of his bed - rumpled and not exactly _clean_ , given the night's activities. He sets the mugs of tea down and quickly strips most of the bedding off, only tossing his pillows and down comforter back on. Fenris watches him with some amusement, but he seems relieved to sit down once Garrett's done.

"Are you hungry?" Garrett asks, aware that he's fussing and completely unable to stop himself, even as Fenris curls up against the headboard and looks like he's trying very hard not to roll his eyes. "I could make you food- like, food that won't kill you, specifically, or-"

"I'm fine," Fenris says, even gifting Garrett a slight smile. "It's... it's more than enough that you're doing this for me. Letting me stay here."

"It's not a 'let,'" Garrett says firmly, taking a seat on the mattress next to Fenris and passing him his tea. "Door's open to you anytime you want. Mi casserole es su casserole."

Fenris snorts into his tea. "Is that the original Spanish?"

"I think we've already established that I am not a multilingual man, Fen," Garrett says, and Fenris grins. 

Garrett leans over to pick up his laptop, and says, "I was thinking we could watch a little Netflix? Or go straight back to sleep- I mean, I'm kind of wired right now, but I know the instant I pass out I'm gonna be out for hours. Oh, wait, shit, maybe I should stay awake actually, to make sure you aren't-?"

"I'll be sure to wake you if I start dying," Fenris says dryly, even as he touches Garrett's hand. "Wait a moment, please."

Garrett puts his laptop down and glances over at Fenris, who looks... nervous, actually. Very nervous.

"I should have told you," he says quietly, his eyes on Garrett's bedspread. "About- about my citizenship. Lack thereof, I mean. You shouldn't have had to find out like that."

Garrett puts his hand over Fenris's, ignoring that horrible, stupid little part of him thinking _Yes, you should have. Yes, it bothers me that I know there are probably more bombshells like that waiting for me._

It's not enough for Garrett to even think of bringing the matter up, never mind getting upset over it - or fuck, _leaving_  over it. But it's there. 

"I understand why you wouldn't exactly want to share that," Garrett says quietly, absentmindedly tracing the pad of his thumb over a faint white line of tattoo ink in Fenris's skin. "It's okay. I just want to know that you're-"

" _Safe_ ," is how Garrett was going to finish that sentence, even as he realizes halfway through that Fenris isn't. That more than anything hits him like a fucking cast iron pan to the face. 

Fenris winces, as if reading Garrett's thoughts, but he says nothing in response. 

"Your... ex," Garrett says slowly, hyperaware of how Fenris's shoulders tense at that, how he seems to crumple in on himself a little bit. "He's not just some crazy ex-boyfriend, is he? It's more than that."

Fenris closes his eyes, and for a moment Garrett expects him to say "pass," to ask to move on from this line of questioning.

Then he opens his eyes again, and he looks so fucking _exhausted_  it just pulls at Garrett's heart, and he says, "It's more than that, yes."

"He's why you can't go back."

Fenris nods, and his grip on Garrett's hand tightens almost painfully. Garrett doesn't react, just continues to rub those gentle little circles over Fenris's skin. 

"Is he... after you? That sounds dramatic as fuck, sorry-"

"I haven't heard from him since I wound up here," Fenris says, the words dull and heavy as they hang in the air between them. "Before that... he found me when I was in Manitoba. I think I might have confused him by going there after Saskatchewan, maybe he thought I was heading back east. Or maybe he finally gave up, but I doubt it."

"Holy shit," Garrett says, because there's really no other words for it. "How- what the fuck?"

"The 'how' is easy enough - private investigators are easy enough to hire when you've got the money, and I don't exactly blend in," Fenris says, with something that might have been a smile if it weren't so bitter. "As for the rest, it's- I can't. Not yet. I'm sorry, I just..."

Fenris turns his head and presses his face into Garrett's shoulder with a sigh that shudders on the finish. Garrett gapes a little, then lifts a hand to cradle the back of Fenris's head, running his fingers through Fenris's hair.

"I like the way you look at me, Hawke," Fenris says, barely more than a whisper. "I don't want that to change."

Garrett has no fucking idea what to do with that. Not for a few long moments.

He wants to say it won't change, because he can't promise that, and he knows that Fenris would hear it in his voice and it would just make things worse.

He wants to say that no matter what Fenris tells him, he's not going to stop loving him. Because as true as that is, Fenris isn't ready to hear it, and especially not in this context. 

He wants to say that he wishes Fenris trusted him, but he knows that Fenris gives him as much trust as he comfortably can, possibly much more. So that would just hurt them both to say aloud. 

Eventually he slips his hand under Fenris's chin, tilts his face up so he can look into his eyes - those fucking gorgeous eyes that Garrett could probably spend the rest of his life staring into, like a lovesick idiot, but he honestly just can't help it. 

He kisses Fenris, and hopes that Fenris understands at least a little of what he wants to say. He tries to press all the unsaid things into Fenris's skin like a balm, and not at all like a tattoo.

Then, because timing has never been his forté, he asks, "Does it really not bother you that I used to date Seb?"

Fenris pulls away with a wince, and a distinctly baleful impression. "I don't really think I have any right to be 'bothered' by it, to be honest."

"That's not the same thing," says Garrett, heart sinking. "Oh God, it _does_  bother you."

"Not exactly," says Fenris, though his "just-deep-throated-a-lemon" expression belies the statement somewhat. "It's- it's a little weird. I'm more worried about it bothering either one of you. If I'd known before meeting you, things might be different, but... I don't want to lose either of you. Especially over something that- well, it's not _trivial_  exactly, but I hardly think it's the end of the world."

"Oh," says Garrett. Something in how Fenris says that - not wanting to lose _either_  him or Seb - kind of helps to soothe that worry that maybe, in some small way, Fenris might like Seb a little more than he likes Garrett. Potentially a lot more, even if it is in more of a family way. But Fenris is nothing if not occasionally bluntly honest, and it sounds like- well, it sounds like there's an equal amount of liking on all sides. It helps. "Did Seb, um... I mean, I know you didn't know it was _me_  at the time, but did he tell you why we broke up? Fuck, I swear I'm not mining you for information like a creep because you two are friends, I'm just curious."

"He did," Fenris says. "To his credit, he's told me the way he handled it was a mistake. He never disapproved of me seeing you - well, seeing a man, specifically. He didn't know it was you."

"What a tangled web, huh?" Garrett sighs, rubbing the back of his head. Then he smirks at Fenris. "So back in the hospital - did you react so calmly to it just because you were tired, or to annoy Anders?"

The grin that Fenris curves his lips into is entirely wolfish, and he says, "Let's say both."

"You're such an ass," Garrett laughs, and pulls Fenris close to kiss his hair.

They only make it through one episode of _Chopped_  before Fenris slumps over into Garrett a little, eyes heavy. So Garrett puts aside the laptop and the empty tea mugs, gathers Fenris into his arms, and in moments the two of them are fast asleep. 

Their little nap comes to an abrupt end sometime later, as the door to Garrett's bedroom comes bursting open with a horrendous _bang_ and a teary Bethany rushes in.

"I just heard what happened from Andy and I'm so, so sorry Fenris!" she cries, as Fenris blinks into confused wakefulness in Garrett's arms, only to be pulled into a fairly aggressive hug by Bethany. "I swear to God I had no _idea_. Garrett, you _ass_ , you might have mentioned!"

"You can't just come into a man's room without knocking," Garrett says, a little punchy with sleep still and somehow both vaguely annoyed and incredibly amused. Fenris seems to still be coming to terms with the world, and sort of hangs in Bethany's grasp a little like he's been shocked into a state of confused paralysis. "We might have been-"

"The man almost _died_ , Garrett, I'd be appalled if you were doing much of anything at the moment," Bethany says, pulling back from Fenris a little. "Is there anything I can get you? Are you alright? I really am sorry-"

"It's fine," Fenris says, his voice a little raspy, but Garrett's relieved to see that he's smiling. _It really is impossible not to love Bethany._  "It wasn't your fault. It was an accident, that's all."

Bethany just bites her lip at this, and pulls Fenris back into a tight hug that seems to knock all the breath out of him with a quiet _oof._

"Bethy, you're gonna suffocate him," Garrett says mildly, patting his sister's shoulder. "That would kind of defeat the purpose, wouldn't it?"

"Shut up, Garrett," Bethany says, in an offhand kind of way. "I'll make it up to you somehow, Fen. What's your favourite food? I'm off tonight, I'm happy to cook."

"I really don't need-"

A shadow falls over the three of them, and they look up to see Marian hunched over in the doorway, bags under her eyes and looking incredibly unamused. 

"I've had four hours of sleep, total, in the past seventy-eight," she growls, and even Fenris seems to shrink a little at her tone. "Glad everyone's alive and all, but if I get woken up again, that's gonna change real fast."

She narrows her eyes a little, staring at each of them in turn, and repeats " _real_  fast" under her breath. Then she walks away.

"Well, on that utterly terrifying note, I'll leave you two to it," Bethany whispers, once they hear Marian's bedroom door close down the hall. "You get some rest, and let me know about dinner. I'm so glad you're okay."

"Thank you," Fenris says.

Bethany slips out of the room, closing the door softly behind her.

"If that doesn't sum up my family, I don't know what would," Garrett groans, rubbing his forehead with his palm. "All we're missing is Carver bursting in and telling me I'm inadequate. Sorry about that."

"Don't be," Fenris says, and when Garrett looks at him... well, if he had to describe Fenris's expression, he'd have to go with _charmed_ , of all things. 

And he thinks of what Fenris has told him, and he thinks of what it might be like to spend so much time running. So much time alone, and very likely afraid. And he thinks... maybe having a somewhat overbearing family isn't a bad thing. 

Maybe Fenris doesn't think so either.

-

"This doesn't require an intervention on this scale, and _you_  were supposed to keep things quiet."

Garrett ignores Aveline's glare, and turns to Varric, Isabela, and an exhausted-looking Anders. "Who here thinks this requires a formulated plan of action?"

Everyone puts up their hand, save Aveline, who just groans.

They've gathered at the Hanged Man for the evening, the night before Aveline's quasi-date with "Officer Henderson" - or "Don," a name which took them an hour of badgering and two beers on Aveline's part to bully out of her. Varric, for his part, has spent most of the evening furiously scribbling notes in his moleskine with a distinctly Jack Nicholson-esque grin on his face.

"I've known you long enough to know how your mind works, big girl," Bela says, waving a yam fry in Aveline's general direction. "Donny-boy's gonna get here, all excited, and you're going to turn right on your heel and walk out that door like the adorable pussy you are. Gare'll be stuck here trying to explain everything, and it'll be a disaster, so you might as well let us get some contingencies in place. It's for your own good."

"Call me "big girl" one more time and I'll find some reason to see you locked up," Aveline mutters, with a steely glare that Garrett finds a little terrifying and Bela seems to find absolutely hilarious.

" _Very_  kinky. Save it for tomorrow, darling. Any input from our local medic?"

"I'm here for support," says Anders. "I assumed that meant I just had to nod or say "mhm" loudly whenever someone made a good point. I'm not exactly up to generating ideas, here."

"Look, Aveline, we're not going to abandon you or make it awkward," Garrett says, even as Aveline picks up her fork with what looks like every intention of stabbing Anders in the thigh with it. "You told him drinks were happening here, so we'll be here, and we'll make you look all cool and badass because you _are_  cool and badass, then we'll just kind of... dissipate. Slowly. We'll let you wade into the pool of flirting with your coworker so you can get used to the temperature, yeah? Metaphorically."

"I say fuck that, deep end it all the way," Bela says, shrugging. "And you know what I mean by _deep_  end, right? Because I mean-" 

"We should draw up diagrams," says Varric, without looking up from his moleskine. "A map of the Hanged Man and strategic placement points. Cover all the exits so Aveline can't slip away."

"I'm not going to _run away,_  I'm not _five_ ," Aveline snaps.

"The lady doth protest too much," says Varric. "Right, okay, so it's going to be me, Bela, Blondie, Sunshine, Garrett- oi, Garrett, are you bringing Skippy out for the fun?"

"He's not gonna like that one," Garrett says, pulling out his phone with a little shake of his head. "I'll see how he's feeling."

"Whether he likes it or not has no bearing on whether it suits him or not," Varric says, tapping his pen against the table.

 

**To: Fen <3**

how are u and are u down for watching a potentially cute lovestory unfolding/huge unavoidable train wreck resulting in near-fatal secondhand embarrassment?

 

**From: Fen <3**

I'm alright. Flissa shortened my shift today (unnecessarily), so I'm headed home. Sign me up for the train wreck.

 

**To: Fen <3**

I am all in favour of u getting sent home early for sleep. u still looked grey last time I saw u. we're still in a strategy meeting so I'll let varric know.

 

**To: Fen <3**

also he's calling u skippy now

 

**From: Fen <3**

.....Like the peanut butter brand?

 

**To: Fen <3**

I think so yeah

 

**From: Fen <3**

I don't like it. 

 

"Fen is down," Garrett says, laying his phone down on the table. "If we get Riri in, it'll be a full house - I mean, minus Carver and Merrill, but as lovely as they are I don't know that they'll be very helpful."

"Besides, they'll both be sleeping through the weekend, probably," Bela says, shaking her head. "Poor sods. They hit overtime yesterday _and_  today, Marian's about to lose her mind given the budget and all. Alright, we're agreed then? Tomorrow, here, around seven, let no Avelines escape the premises unlaid?"

"I don't think the Hanged Man is an ideal place for the "getting laid" part of the plan," Anders says, sounding a little nauseated. "Have you seen the men's washrooms?"

"That's why I've only ever hooked up in the _women's_ washrooms," Isabela says, with a little smirk.

"Process of elimination leads me to only one conclusion, and I really don't want to think about my sister getting it on with you in a skeevy bar bathroom, women's or not," Garrett says, recoiling in horror as Isabela makes an incredibly suggestive gesture at him across the table. "Okay, that- no. Put your hands _down_ , woman. That is- that is just not right."

"Just a little something to think about, Gare-Bear," Isabela says sweetly, as Garrett fights the urge to run to the closest sink and rinse out his eyes for fifteen minutes, just like he was taught to do in Grade 9 science class after contact with corrosive materials. "I'll check to see that she's available. No point going to all the trouble of developing a plan if one of the key members is AWOL."

Aveline buries her face in her hands, Anders snickers at Garrett, and Varric returns to scribbling in his notebook. Garrett sighs very deeply indeed, and finishes his drink.

 

**From: The Bae**

are you down for helping your childhood best friend get some sweet man-in-uniform ass tomorrow? I know you're very busy.

 

**To: The Bae**

When you phrase it like that, how can I resist? I've got a meeting until five, but I'll be free after that. 

 

**To: The Bae**

Well. Free as I can be with my phone going off every thirty seconds. 

 

**From: The Bae**

good girl. the shenanigans just wouldn't be the same without you.

 

**From: The Bae**

and anyway, I'm starting to forget what you look like. you're blonde, right? no, no- a redhead! I do love redheads.

 

**To: The Bae**

Are you gonna run off with Aveline? Cause that would be one hell of a plot twist.

 

**From: The Bae**

when you phrase it like that, how can I resist? <3

 

**To: The Bae**

╭∩╮(-_-)╭∩╮

 

**From: Turkey**

are you available I need to call you

 

Marian frowns at her phone, and rises from her desk. "Bo, I'm getting some fresh air. Text me if anyone calls, yeah?"

Bodahn, carefully organizing a stack of paperwork Marian just handed him for printing moments ago, gives one of his brisk nod-bows. "Of course."

Marian's not really paying attention as she exits her office and turns down the corridor, her mind on Carver's text and wondering just what the fuck could be so urgent that he'd actually call her - _and he's on set right now anyway, isn't he?_  - so she doesn't realize she's on a collision course with a broad blond man walking briskly up the hallway until they're quite suddenly occupying the same space at the same time.

In a full-contact, no-holds-barred, WWE-championship kind of way. They even knock heads.

"Ow, fuck," says Marian, rubbing at her temple with a scowl as she picks herself up off the ground. "Sorry about that."

"No, no, it was my fault, I wasn't watching where I was going," says the man, helping her to her feet and... fuck, Marian recognizes that voice from conference calls.

It's one thing to know that one is working with very, _very_  well-known producer Cullen Rutherford, when he's a voice on the other end of the phone and physically residing somewhere in L.A. It's a very different thing entirely to commit aggravated assault against well-known producer Cullen Rutherford, in one's own workplace.

"Marian?" Cullen guesses, holding out a hand. "You sound familiar."

"That's me," Marian says, shaking Cullen's hand. "I like to make an impression. Sorry about the concussion, it's a Canadian welcoming ritual."

"Well, I'll consider myself extremely welcomed, then," Cullen says with a wince, gingerly prodding his forehead - but he's grinning too, so Marian's at least fifty percent sure she still has a job. "Um, where would I go about finding my wife?"

"Three doors down, but not the band," Marian says, and Cullen snorts. "I thought you weren't coming up until next week?"

"That was the plan, but... well, we wanted to take the weekend to discuss some things," Cullen says. "The usual mid-shoot panic, you know how it is."

"God, are we halfway? It doesn't feel like it."

"Just under." Cullen smiles then, very warmly. "I did want to say, in person, that you've been doing an amazing job. I'm glad Lainy has someone up here to keep her sane. We'll be keeping you if we get picked up by the network, I trust? I know moving to the UK is a bit of an ask, but I couldn't imagine anyone else running things in here."

Marian opens her mouth to reply, with no fucking idea of what she's actually going to say, when her phone goes off. 

Cullen stares. "Is that-?"

" _MMMBop_  by Hanson? Yep, I'm afraid it is." It's Carver's least favourite song on the planet, after all, so of course Marian made it his personalized ringtone. "Would you excuse me?"

Cullen steps out of her way, giving her probably a little more room than necessary to get past, but given the physical trauma of the last few minutes Marian honestly doesn't blame him.

She doesn't get outside in time to answer, but he picks up on the first ring when she calls him back. 

" _Marian?_ "

"Present. What's up? Please tell me nothing's on fire that isn't supposed to be, we can't afford to replace anything right now."

" _It's nothing like that_." 

Marian frowns, because... sweet fuck, Carver sounds _serious._  Not dour, like he is when he's tired, or annoyed with his siblings. But grim, and worried.

"Is everything okay?"

" _I don't think so. I think- I think someone's been harassing Merrill._ "

Marian blows out a breath - relieved, then very pissed with herself for being relieved. _Right. Great. Only a little light harassment. No problem there, right? Fuck._  "What kind of harassment? Has she filed a complaint?"

" _No, no- she, um, she hasn't said anything specific. But I know her, okay? She's gotten quiet, and like- nervous, and jumpy. I've asked her if everything's okay and she says it's fine, that everyone's really nice to her and everything's wonderful, but... fuck, I don't know. It sounds stupid as shit saying it out loud._ "

"'Nervous and jumpy' isn't much to go on," Marian says, not unkindly. "It could also be the long hours. Sleep deprivation can do some crazy shit to your head. Have any of the other ladies on set said anything?"

" _Nothing aside from what's considered normal, which is bullshit enough. One of the grips calls all the girls "sweetheart" and "dollface," and there's one guy from FX who's really huggy - he's like that with the guys too though. And the lead is a dick, but everyone knows that. I haven't heard about anything beyond the usual microaggressions, but still_."

Marian raises her eyebrows, impressed despite herself. "'Microaggressions?' Where did you learn a big word like that, kid?"

" _Please, you act like Bethany isn't my sister. And anyway, I took a Feminism and Athletics course last fall. I just... I'm worried. I don't know. I mean, I came out on set to work with her to make sure this shit didn't happen because she really needs this job, so maybe I'm just looking for shit to happen so I can white knight it, which is stupid- fuck, I'm tired._ "

"Hey, I know we give you a hard time and all, but... I don't think that's what you're doing," Marian says softly. "I'm proud of you."

" _I'm gonna puke over all your irreplaceable set dec shit._ "

"Slightly less proud, now, but still." Marian frowns. "Why does she _need_  this job, exactly?"

" _Long story. Basically, family back in Wales doesn't approve of her life decisions so she's paying her own way for school and staying in the country and I really shouldn't be telling you this shit but whatever, now you know._ "

Marian nods, and sighs. "Okay. Shit, Carv, I mean... I want to help, you know I do, but I need more to go on-"

" _I know._ "

"I'll keep it in mind though, and the heads-up is good. Thank you. Get some sleep this weekend, okay?"

" _I'll try. The guy in the dorm next to me doesn't seem to get that night is for sleeping, not playing Mario Party with friends until four in the morning and being a loud piece of shit when he loses._ "

"Ah, university. Give Mahanon a hug for me."

" _I'll give him a manly nod of affirmation, does that work?_ "

"Perfect."

Carver hangs up.

Marian tilts her head back, staring up at the pastel violet of the evening sky, frowning. 

She stays like that for a long time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AND NOW FOR NOTES:
> 
> \- ....
> 
> \- you know I actually can't?? think of anything to put in the notes?? holy shit.
> 
> \- oh I guess I could mention re: fenris recovery, from experience bouncing back after anaphylaxis takes a lot longer than you'd think it would. it feels like being hit by a truck, no joke. 
> 
> \- things are gonna get a little lighter from here for a bit before the angst comes in like a wrecking ball that never hit so hard in love all it wants is to break your walls but all it does is bre-e-a-ak me
> 
> As always your comments are the reason why this fic is where it is and if I'm correct it just topped over 100,000 words which??? Holy shit guys?? I mean if I post it and it didn't I'm gonna be embarrassed as shit but if this is the case holy sHIT. Seriously it's all happening because of you and I can't thank you enough, seriously. Reading your comments is the best feeling in the universe and it always makes me want to write so thank you. 
> 
> Text me beep me if u wanna reach me I'm at foxnonny.tumblr.com, and I'm always down for hearing anything about anything - questions comments concerns jokes, it's all great, because I love you. Even if sometimes I'm hard to reach because of life and brain shit, I love you to pieces.


	22. The Long Road (to Bootytown)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter earned its goddamn name as it took me almost three weeks to plough through some of the worst writer's block that's ever fucking happened to me in a relatively short chapter. 
> 
> Along that vein, I want to dedicate this chapter 100%, wholeheartedly, to a super sweet anon who messaged me a few days ago about my writing. That ask honestly gave me the push I needed to finish this and get it posted, and I haven't answered it yet because I want to link this chapter to it to show them what they did. Anon, I love you, and I hope you enjoy!
> 
> (Oh, also there's some sweet semi-public lovin' in this chapter, so I hope y'all enjoy that too! But to be warned, there are brief allusions to the Backstory in that part, so it's not all fluff and games sadly.)

**Group Chat: OPERATION hANGED MAN**

Varric Tethras, Aveline Vallen, Bethany Hawke, Garrett Hawke, Marian Hawke, Anders Smith, Isabela Rivaini

 

**Varric:**  Good evening everyone. Attached is tonight's mission package. Please take a moment to peruse the contents before arriving at the location. Download it onto your mobile devices for easy access. Garrett, please forward it to Half-Pint as he doesn't appear to have any kind of social media whatsoever which in incredibly inconvenient for the rest of us.

 

[Item shared to chat: **OpHangedMan.zip** ]

  
**Aveline:** I ask yet again, is this really necessary?

**Marian:** Yes

**Anders:** yes

**Bethany:** sorry yes

**Garrett:**  <3 yeah

 

[Group name changed to: **HELP AVELINE GET STICK OUT OF ASS AND PUT HOT COP THERE INST** ]

 

**Aveline:**  ISABELA

**Isabela:**  ran out of words :( 

 

[Group name changed to: **Evening with friends.** ]

 

**Garrett:**  that's just boring

**Aveline:**  It's called subtlety. Subtlety!

**Varric:**  Now look here, I try to make a mature and reasonable plan of action and all of you seem set against it. Must I be the adult in the room, *again*?

**Bethany:**  You *are* the oldest of all of us.

**Varric:**  Sunshine, you wound me. You truly do.

 

[Group name changed to: **wont u take me 2 *bootytown*** ]

 

**Aveline:**  Garrett please.

**Garrett:**  I've got that bowie song stuck in my head

**Garrett:** it's bowie right

**Garrett:**  sidenote varric this chart looks like one of our old d&d maps are you by any chance recycling

**Varric:**  I may have found some interesting items while clearing out my files a few days ago.

**Varric:**  And it's not Bowie, it's a disco song. Lipps Inc. Why the fuck would you think it was Bowie?

**Garrett:** you don't want to know the answer to that

**Aveline:**?

**Anders:**  ??

**Bethany:**?

**Isabela:**?

**Marian:**  Is it because of Shrek 2.

**Varric:**  ???

**Garrett:**  the song changes is on the shrek 2 soundtrack and when I was a little kid I kept mixing up which was originally a bowie song changes or funkytown and it's changes and now I look like a shrek loving fool

**Bethany:**  ...Garrett *I* was a little kid when Shrek 2 came out. *You* were sixteen.

**Garrett:** CAN WE GET BACK ON TOPiC RIGHT NOW IMMEDIATELY

**Anders:**  Now I know what I'm getting you for your birthday, Garrett. 

**Garrett:**  no

**Anders:** Do they make Shrek onesies?

**Garrett:**  NO

 

[Group name changed to: **garrett <3 shrek**]

 

**Marian:**  Yo Varric on the D&D map I see we have designated zones?

**Varric:**  Thank you, Marian, for your lovely /on-topic/ question. Yes, we have zones. We want to start the night grouped around Aveline, bolstering her confidence, keeping her from awkward missteps and misadventures. Now you'll notice I have you all numbered - that's the order in which you are going to break away from the main group, and head to your zone. We'll start to disperse ourselves throughout the pub fifteen minutes after Mr Henderson arrives, in approx. five to ten minute intervals. 

**Anders:**  Why are we dispersing?

**Bethany:**  Does 1 go first? or is 1 like, the number one person Aveline wants with her?

**Isabela:**  given that I'm 1, I doubt that's the case

**Varric:**  Other way around, Sunshine. We're dispersing so we can cover as many escape routes as possible.

**Aveline:**  I'M NOT GOING TO RUN AWAY.

**Varric:**  Also to create a safety & support net throughout the pub. 

**Isabela:**  don't worry big girl, we've got you covered ;) I've also got a little fresh green on me if you're looking to relax before going in

**Anders:**  Where's it from? 

**Isabela:**  proper shop - I've got a card. can't be too careful.

**Anders:**  If that's the case, I won't say no. I've got tomorrow off.

**Aveline:**  Did you all just forget I'm a police officer? 

**Isabela:**  relax, darling, I'm talking about basil. everyone loves a little fresh basil.

**Anders:**  Basil does wonders for a multitude of medical conditions. We sometimes prescribe basil to cancer patients.

****Varric:**** It's also a large part of many cultures, who see basil as a spiritual herb.

**Marian:** Besides, our new prime minister is planning on legalizing basil anyway.

**Garrett:**  and it's really good on pasta!!

**Garrett:** basil not uh

**Garrett:** basil

**Bethany:**  Looks like someone's already gotten into your basil, Bela.

**Aveline:**  I hate you all.

 

-

 

**To: Fen <3**

sorry to do this to you but varric's insisting we all read through this

 

**To: Fen <3**

[Attachment: **OpHangedMan.zip** ]

 

**From: Fen <3**

Is it necessary...?

 

**To:  Fen <3**

I think so yeah

 

**From: Fen <3**

Then for Aveline's sake, I'll do it. I'm going to be a little late by the way. Will that throw Varric's carefully crafted itinerary into chaos?

 

**To: Fen <3**

it might but don't worry about it

 

**From: Fen <3**

He's labelled me as "Tinkerbell" in the document so I don't think I will worry about ruining his plans, no. 

 

**To: Fen <3**

I swear I'm not laughing or thinking that it's cute at all

 

**From: Fen <3**

If you ever call me Tinkerbell I will burn that stupid Thailand tourist t-shirt.

 

**To: Fen <3**

noted

 

**To: Fen <3**

....but is tink okay?

 

**From: Fen <3**

No.

 

**To: Fen <3**

:(

 

-

 

"He's not coming."

Garrett pulls a sympathetic face and rubs Aveline's back, even as everyone else at the table groans loudly. "It's only 6:02, Av'. You don't know that."

"He's very prompt, Garrett," Aveline says, drumming her short nails against the table, eyes tight. Usually not one for makeup, Aveline caved and let Bethany add a little blush to her cheeks and some brown pencil liner around her eyes. How his sister managed to convince Aveline to let her finish things off with mascara, he'll never know, but the difference - though subtle - really plays up Aveline's striking good looks. "He's dependable. And anyway, it was a very casual invite, so it isn't like he made some kind of solid commitment. It's for the best, really."

"It's raining buckets out there, he's probably just caught in traffic," Bethany says kindly, offering Aveline a reassuring smile. "And anyway, the Hanged Man isn't exactly on Vancouver's top ten list, is it? He's probably never been here."

"Unless he was involved in that crime ring takedown last fall - that happened here, didn't it?" Bela twines a dark curl around her fingers thoughtfully. "What was their name? "Doglords" or something? They used to sell out of the parking lot."

Aveline winces. "God, I think you're right. We should have chosen a nicer venue, he might think I'm- I'm crooked, or something."

"I don't think anyone would think that," Marian says. "Besides, the best cops know how to, like, "read the streets" or whatever, right? Maybe he'll be impressed that you don't wander around with your nose in the air, looking down on dive pubs and shit."

"Besides, you're sitting at a table with a New York Times bestselling author, a nurse, and a Hollywood bigwig," Varric says, gesturing grandly to all seated. "Not to mention an SFU grad student and Mother Teresa's hotter reincarnation."

"Aw, thanks," says Bethany, dimpling sweetly.

"Mother Teresa was anti-abortion, pro-colonialism, and thought that the suffering of those in poverty was both beautiful and necessary," Anders mutters.

"Did you just ruin Mother Teresa? For real? _Mother Teresa?_ " Garrett asks, a little impressed. Anders shrugs and sips his beer.

"Point is," says Varric, "he should be impressed by your choice in friends, if not your choice of dining establishments, and if your police sketch-style description of him was in any way accurate I think he just walked through the door."

Aveline straightens abruptly, schooling her expression into one of polite neutrality, though her eyes are a little wider than usual as a man with dark russet hair and magnificent sideburns approaches the table. Garrett looks him over briefly, and can't help but like what he sees; the man has a kind face, even if he does look a little confused by pretty much everything happening around him, and he seems to share the same kind of frank practicality that defines much of Aveline's personality if his clothes are anything to go by (black runners, jeans, and a nondescript brown shirt under a waterproof windbreaker).

"Captain," Don says, nodding to Aveline, and there it is: a distinct softness in his eyes, a little hidden behind his overall bemusement. Garrett glances at Marian, who smirks at him, having caught the look as well. "These are your friends?"

"Call her Aveline, please," Isabela says with a cat's grin, eyes twinkling. Aveline utters a very quiet groan, only loud enough for those at the table to hear. "I'm Isabela."

Don blinks. "Um. Alright? Sorry, uh- very nice to meet you."

Introductions are made as Don takes a seat - by planned convenience, the only free seat available is next to Aveline. As they are both tall, athletic people, the cushy corner of the booth forces them to squeeze in quite close to one another, and Garrett knows if it weren't for the dim yellowish lighting of the pub, Aveline's face would be glowing red as a stop sign. 

"So what's the occasion, then?" Don asks politely, gesturing to the table. "Cap- er, Aveline said there was some kind of event? Oh, is Brennan coming?"

"Couldn't make it," Aveline says. "And it's mostly just a friendly gathering-"

"It's my birthday," says Isabela abruptly. Marian snorts into her beer, but says nothing. "I believe _everyone_ was about to buy me a round of drinks?"

Don seems confused, Aveline murderous, and ultimately it's Garrett who shells out for Isabela's "birthday" cocktail - a Pornstar, of course.

"Can it be my birthday too?" Anders murmurs to Garrett.

"Give me details about Doctor DILF and it can be," Garrett answers in an undertone. Anders scowls at him, and retreats to his half-drunk IPA.

"So you work with our Aveline, hmm?" Varric says loudly over the din of the pub, voice oozing with charm. "Any exciting cases? I'm always looking for inspiration."

"None that we'd be able to share, I'm afraid," Don says, shrugging. "Well, none I can think of, at any rate. It's up to the captain's discretion."

"Varric is a writer, Don," Aveline says. "He likes to write detective stories."

"Not just detective stories, don't pigeonhole me," Varric says, eyes twinkling. "More like, 'human interest' stories. Are you an interesting human, Don?"

"God, I hope not," Don laughs. "It's always the interesting ones who get in trouble, isn't it?"

"'Trouble' is just another word for 'plot,' in my profession," Varric says. 

Garrett's pocket buzzes, and he glances down to see a text from Marian.

 

**From: RULE63!ME**

Is Varric trying to seduce Don because I don't think Aveline's going to be too thrilled about that.

 

Garrett coughs to cover his laugh, and kicks his sister under the table. She grins at him. 

 

**To: RULE63!ME**

varric tries to seduce everyone, just not always sexually, you know?? it's *how he do*

 

"Wait a moment," Don says, catching Garrett's attention as he leans in over the table, squinting at Varric. "You're not- my God, you're Varric _Tethras_ , aren't you? You write _Swords and Shields?_  My mother's crazy about those books, I used to have to buy her one every Christmas."

Varric winces. "Ah. Yeah, I wrote those. Thought I'd dabble into romance, you know... try to expand my skill set a little."

"She won't stop complaining about having to wait for the next one," Don says. "She'd lose her mind if she knew I were talking to you right now. Right, well, I'm not going to pressure you or anything, but I _am_ going to tell her that I tried to convince you to keep working on them on her behalf."

"I'll keep it under consideration," Varric says. "Anyway, enough about me. Let's talk about _you_."

The next half hour goes pretty fucking great in Garrett's book, as the lot of them keep the conversation buoyed comfortably between them all. It almost feels like any other night at the pub, save for everyone trying to angle the flow of conversation back towards Aveline and Don as subtly as they can (or not subtly at all, in Isabela's case, which was quite honestly to be expected). 

Eventually Bela sighs, makes a comment about harassing the bartender for free drinks for the table "on account of it being my birthday, and all," and leaves. It doesn't feel like very long at all before Anders gives a woodenly-acted fake jump, mutters something about a call from the hospital, and scurries away. A little while later is Bethany, claiming to see friends from work, then Marian with a little wink and a very convincing groan about getting fifteen e-mails from LA that all need to be answered "right now, immediately." Finally it's just Varric, Garrett, Aveline, and Don, all chatting well and happily, until Varric stretches and stands, casually citing a need to see a man about a dog.

"I've never understood that expression," Garrett says, shaking his head as Varric saunters off. "Like, I'd totally understand if it meant having to leave to see an _actual_  dog, but that's never the case, is it?"

"You're a dog person?" Don asks, settling back in his seat. This causes his arm to brush Aveline's shoulder, and they both startle back from one another as if scalded. "Sorry, Cap- erm, Aveline. You sure it's alright if I call you that? I know your friend said, but, ah-"

"It's fine, Don," Aveline says gently, looking up at Don with very soft eyes. "I like it."

And fuck if that isn't the closest Aveline's come to actual, genuine flirting all night.

Garrett feels a little creepy, actually, watching them do the whole "staring into each other's eyes" bit, practically hearing the string quartet in the background and fighting the wild urge to reach over the table, take them both by the backs of their heads, and shove them both forward into a kiss.

Then very abruptly, Aveline looks away, and starts scrambling to her feet. "I- I'm sorry, I've just remembered I have a- a thing, I have to-"

" _Av-_ " Garrett starts, but it's already too late - Aveline is on her feet and scurrying away, leaving a bemused and somewhat hurt-looking Don staring after her like something out of a goddamn Nicholas Sparks movie. Impressively, Aveline almost makes it to the exit before she's intercepted by Marian and Bethany, who promptly loop their arms about her elbows and frogmarch her into the women's washroom.

Garrett turns back to Don slowly, with as reassuring a smile as he can manage. "So, uh... how's the beer treating you, then?"

Don, who's staring off at the ladies' room with a somewhat wistful expression, looks down at his drink with a frown. "It's... beer?"

"Great!" Garrett says, still smiling as he frantically flags down a waitress. "More beer, then?"

"Sounds about right," says Don with a short sigh.

After getting scolded by Norah the waitress for "waving me down like a damn dog, Garrett, who _raised_  you?" and ordering another round, Garrett is left to stare at Don, who stares right back at him in return. 

"You know, Aveline is just a _fantastic_  girl," Garrett says, propping his chin up on one hand and praying for some kind of divine intervention. _A fucking meteor to the face would do just fine, right about now._  "I've known her since we were just kids, she really is something. Don't you think?"

Don shifts in his seat, looking a little wrong-footed and- shit, a little annoyed now, actually. "Oh. Um, the captain is quite remarkable, yes." He frowns at the grungy salt and pepper shakers like he's writing them a ticket for public urination, then says, "Listen, I don't know you very well, but can I give you some advice?"

"I love advice," says Garrett, blinking.

"Right. Well, you say you know the captain, and I don't doubt you do. She seems very comfortable around you. So instead of talking to me about it, someone you barely know, you should probably talk to _her,_  don't you think? The worst thing she can say is no."

Garrett's pretty fucking sure his face fractures into at least five pieces from the calisthenics his eyebrows do after this little speech. It takes him a few seconds to get his brain back, after which he tries to say, "Um, wait-"

"The captain is a practical woman, Garrett," Don says patiently. "I think we have that in common. This whole beating-around-the-bush, silent pining thing- I've never understood it myself. Doesn't it just make things more complicated in the end?"

"Um-"

"Police officers especially, we appreciate _honesty,_  you know? If you love her, you should just tell her. Hell, if I were in her position I'd want you to be honest with me-"

"Oh, buddy-"

"I'm not saying this to offend, I just- you're right, Aveline is a special woman. As someone who cares for her, I want her to be happy, and she deserves someone who's man enough to step up-"

"Don, _bro_ -"

There's a hand on Garrett's shoulder just then, and Garrett turns his head to find his mouth meeting a very familiar pair of soft, full lips.

There's utter silence at the table as Fenris kisses Garrett. Fenris eventually pulls away with a knowing smirk, and Garrett looks over to see Don staring, slack-jawed, at the pair of them. 

"My apologies," Fenris says, his hand resting on Garrett's shoulder as he takes up Anders' vacated seat at Garrett's side. "Fen. I'm Garrett's boyfriend."

_Fen. I'm Garrett's boyfriend._  If there's a more poetic, more perfect sentence in the whole of the English language, Garrett can't think of it. 

Don is still gaping, and for an awful moment Garrett has a flashback to meeting Wesley for the first time, and how Wesley's eyes had tightened with obvious distaste to see Garrett's arm draped around another man's waist. 

Then Don laughs, planting his face in his hands in obvious embarrassment but good humour, too, and Garrett feels himself relaxing.

"My God, I- sweet Jesus," Don says, shaking his head. "I'm an idiot. I'm so sorry, Garrett. I thought-"

"Don't worry about it," Garrett says, putting an arm around Fenris's waist and pulling him in close to kiss his cheek. Quieter, he murmurs in Fenris's ear, "Have I ever mentioned you're wonderful, and quite possibly a genius?"

Fenris rolls his eyes, his smirk softening into a smile.

"Really though, I am sorry," Don says, reaching for a glass of water and still letting out the occasional disbelieving snort. "I guess I'm just- um-"

"Relieved?" Garrett ventures innocently.

Don pauses, the water glass halfway to his mouth, and his expression turns distinctly rueful. "Something like that, maybe."

"You know, you were giving me some really _excellent_  advice about seizing the day, and everything," Garrett says, his heart flipping a little as Fenris leans into his side and reaches over to steal the last of his beer (like an asshole, but fuck if it isn't cute). "Should I be repeating it back to you?"

"It isn't like that," Don says. "Like I said, the captain is a confident woman. If she were... interested, I think I'd know." He grimaces. "If you could keep this between us, I'd be grateful, but... well, I think she knows how I feel, and it seems like she feels sorry for me, if anything."

Garrett frowns. "What makes you say that?"

Don waves a hand. "This- inviting me out for _friend_  gatherings, and at work she's- I don't know, I think she's been trying to do nice things for me out of pity. I don't need it, honestly, it's an honour just to be her friend, and- and sorry, I'm ranting to her childhood best friend about all this. What exactly do they put in this beer, anyway?"

"Best not to ask," Garrett says. "And I'm a super excellent person to talk to about this shit, I promise. Look, you're not a mind reader, right? I'm assuming that's not one of your cop skills?"

"Lip reader, yes," Don says. "Mind reader, no."

"Right, well, you don't know what Aveline's thinking. Maybe there's a _reason_  she's being nice. You feel me?"

Don seems to consider this, biting his lip. He rubs the back of his neck and says, "Well, even if... even if that were the case, it would be complicated, wouldn't it? She's my superior, we work together- there's a million things that could go wrong."

"Maybe it's not as complicated as you seem to think," Fenris says, putting Garrett's empty beer glass back down on the table. "Maybe it's as simple as whether or not you want to be with her, and she with you."

The words are familiar, and Garrett can't help but squeeze his arm around Fenris a little, pressing another quick kiss to his hair.

Don watches the two of them with a thoughtful expression, and doesn't answer. 

"You don't have to do anything tonight," Garrett says to Don. "But... you know, come and hang out with us more often. I'm sure Aveline would like that."

"Would she?" Don asks, looking dubious. "She took off pretty quickly when-"

" _Tinkerbell!_ "

Isabela's voice is loud and boisterous as she swoops in to hug Fenris, leaving a perfect imprint of dark red lips on his cheek as she kisses him. Fenris wipes at the mark, scowling at Garrett as Isabela returns to her seat. "You told her?"

"Everyone got the e-mail, Fen," Garrett says with a guilty shrug. "Blame Varric."

Fen bares his teeth a little. "Oh, I intend to."

They both look up as Marian and Bethany arrive back at the table, a decidedly shame-faced Aveline in tow.

"Sorry," she says, sitting back down in the booth next to Don under Marian's stern gaze. "I forgot to call my aunt, it's- it's her birthday today."

Garrett's pocket buzzes again, and he glances down to see another text from Marian.

**From:**   **RULE63!ME**

We managed to convince Aveline to come back only by promising not to leave again, so there goes all that. So much for Varric's operation.

 

"Lots of birthdays today, then," Don is saying blithely when Garrett looks up again, but Don follows this with a smile and nudges Aveline's arm with his elbow. "Garrett and I ordered another round. You in, Captain?"

Aveline smiles at him. "Definitely."

So Varric's carefully constructed plan falls through as the diaspora of friends and family return to the table, Anders making a point of glaring at Fenris for stealing his chair before pulling up another one to squeeze in between him and Varric (who is in deep conversation about the best and worst clichés of police procedurals with Don, and doesn't seem at all put-out by the failure of his "operation"). "Didn't I save your life not too long ago? All big and dramatic and heroic-like?"

"I don't recall," Fenris says, a slight smirk tugging at his lips as Norah places a glass of red wine in front of him. "It's all a blur to me."

Anders mutters something very rude under his breath, and says, "Now, this isn't coming from me, but K- Dr Thekla is insisting I check every time we go out to make sure you're carrying that damn EpiPen around. Where is it?"

Fenris' mouth thins at this, but after a moment of stubborn hesitation he pulls a slender plastic tube out of his jacket pocket, placing it on the table. "Happy?"

"Like I said, this isn't coming from _me_ ," Anders insists. "But I'll let Dr Thekla know. Jacket's not the best place for it, though."

"A few other places are starting to come to mind," Fenris says, narrowing his eyes.

"Just saying, a lot of people like you carry fanny packs, and I think that's a great idea."

"I'm not wearing a fanny pack."

"I'm sure they sell them at Hot Topic, if you're worried about it clashing with your aesthetic."

Fenris snatches the EpiPen off the table and shoves it back into his jacket, glaring at Anders. "Fuck off. Tell the doctor I say thank you."

"I'm happy to do both," Anders says, smiling sweetly.

"Now, boys-" Garrett starts, but Anders and Fenris both look at him with such hilariously identical affronted looks that he breaks off into a laugh, and can't seem to get his breath back for the life of him for a good few minutes.

It's not what any of them expected for the evening - no heartfelt declarations of love and passion, no heartless rejections, and only a few bumps along the way. But Aveline is happy, and Don seems to be enjoying himself, and for the first time in quite a while, it's Garrett and all his favourite people sitting around and sharing an evening together, shit beer and all. 

-

Don is the first to leave an hour or two later, but he gives Aveline a little shoulder squeeze on his way out that leaves her absolutely flustered as the rest of the group gathers in close to offer advice and opinions. 

Some good, 

"I think it's better this way actually," says Bethany, "you two getting to know each other better as friends, first. Takes some pressure off, yeah?" 

Some bad, 

"Right, here's what you do when you get into work on Monday: You call him into your office and ask him to bend you right over your desk and-" 

"Bela, no _._ " 

And some decidedly off-topic, 

"What's he like as a cop? Good cop? Bad cop? Rogue cop? Rookie cop? I think I'm onto something here-" 

"Varric, _no._ "

"So how's the shop, then?" Garrett asks, turning to Fenris as Varric pulls out his moleskine to take notes, and Aveline smacks Isabela with a rolled-up menu for suggesting an alternative use for police issue handcuffs.

Fenris shrugs, reaching up to knead at the base of his neck with scarred fingers, something he's been doing a lot in the past hour. "Nothing exciting. Is that student of yours still foregoing basic hygiene for the sake of... what was it?"

"Apparently the aluminum in our deodorant is sending us all to an early grave," Garrett says. "I mentioned coconut oil, given that most hipsters in Vancouver are quite well-marinated in the stuff."

"And?"

"Something about global imperialism and how organic capitalism contributes to... ah, fuck if I know. Is your neck okay?"

Fenris winces and nods, still working at his muscles, now digging his knuckles in. "Just a little knotted up. It happens."

"Do you mind?" Garrett asks, lifting a hand.

Fenris shrugs and drops his hand, leaning forward as Garrett lifts his hand and starts to knead the area Fenris was working on. Judging by Fenris's short hiss, it's obviously very sore, and Garrett can actually feel more than a few small knots in the muscle as he gently works his fingers in. "Not for nothing, babe, but have you been sleeping in pretzel shapes?"

"It just happens," Fenris says again, eyes shut tightly.

"Knots can cause migraines, you know," Garrett says, working his thumb into the hollow at the base of Fenris's skull. "It's why I learned to do this, my mom used to get some nasty headaches that put her out for days." 

"Your mother has my sympathies. I do get the occasional migraine, but not-" he breaks off to grit his teeth for a moment, as Garrett smooths his knuckles over a cluster of small knots, "-not quite as bad."

"Well, now you've got me," Garrett says, switching from targeted kneading to a slow, even massage that causes Fenris to go a little limp under his hand, the tight pain in his face fading. "Me and my _magic hands._ You know how kung fu masters can have their hands registered as lethal weapons? Mine are the opposite of that. I should carry a card."

"You're an idiot," Fenris says, smiling as he turns to rest his forehead against Garrett's shoulder. Garrett moves his thumb back to the base of Fenris's head, smoothing out the kinked-up muscles and letting the tips of his fingers card up into Fenris's hair, and Fenris groans a little - very quietly, but loud enough that Garrett hears it.

There's a short shout from across the table, interrupting their little moment. They both look up to see Aveline now smacking Marian over the head with her rolled-up menu as Marian cackles, and Isabela looks oddly proud. "That is _not_  what an interrogation room is for!"

"Only if you're lacking imagination," Marian snickers, earning herself another blow to the head. "I'm just saying, those two-way mirrors provide a fantastic array of possibilities-"

" _No!_ "

"Look, why don't you come back to my place tonight? If you want to," Garrett says quietly, turning back to Fenris, who watches the scene before them unfold with lazy amusement as Garrett continues his massage. "Then I could actually do this properly."

"Hmm?" Fenris murmurs, eyes fluttering closed for a moment as Garrett kneads into the sensitive area between neck and shoulder. "What would that entail, exactly?"

"Well, for one thing, the way your knots are clustered they probably go all the way down your back around the spinal cord, so there's no point in working this shit out without tackling the rest," Garrett says practically, running the tips of his fingers down Fenris's spine through his thin shirt before returning to the base of his neck. Fenris shivers at this, and casts Garrett a look that seems equal parts annoyed and... well, not actually very annoyed at all. "Sorry. Anyway, I've also got all the proper equipment back home too."

" _Equipment?_ "

"Yeah, I've got this wooden massage roller thing that works really well for bigger knots," Garrett says, as Fenris watches him with an unreadable expression - his eyes are heavy-lidded from Garrett's attentions, but there's a definite intensity there, especially as the black of his eyes expand to swallow the green. "And oils and shit. Oh! And I just picked up a bunch of candles."

"Candles," Fenris echoes. 

"I mean, they probably wouldn't help with the actual 'massage' part of things, but it'd be romantic," Garrett shrugs, working a firm grip over the nape of Fenris's neck again, pleased to feel that some of the bigger clusters of knots have loosened. "Probably better than a half-hearted attempt at a neck massage in a seedy bar-"

Garrett's wrist is abruptly snatched up in Fenris's grip, catching him mid-knead. Fenris just stares at him, holding his wrist tightly.

"Shit, sorry, did I hurt you?" Garrett asks.

"No," Fenris says, his voice very low as he guides Garrett's hand back down and away from his neck. Then he leans in and whispers, "You're making me so hard I can't think straight, Garrett Hawke."

Garrett's mouth goes very dry indeed, and he's pretty sure his eyes are about to fall out of his head as he stares down at Fenris, who stares back at him in return, utterly shameless and very clearly wanting.

"Well," Garrett says, "I could probably work that out too, if you let me."

Fenris snorts, and kisses him, still holding his wrist in a vise grip like he never intends to let go.

"You guys are gross," says Anders suddenly, poking his head around Fenris's shoulder. 

"Hey, nurses getting frisky in medical supplies closets shouldn't throw hypodermic needles, or whatever," Garrett says, as Fenris pointedly ignores Anders to press his lips to Garrett's jaw.

"That's different," Anders mutters sourly. "That's _private._  Kind of."

"There's an idea," Fenris says quietly.

He gives Garrett's wrist a little squeeze, stands, and heads off for the men's room without a backwards glance.

Anders watches him go, mouth gaping slightly. He turns back to Garrett. "You're _not-_ "

Garrett is already standing, Anders' quiet meltdown fading into the general hubbub of the bar as he follows Fenris to the washrooms.

By some amazing stroke of luck, the washrooms are empty when Garrett steps in. It looks like they've been cleaned sometime in the last month as well, which is an unexpected bonus. Fenris turns to face Garrett as the door swings shut behind him, and his skin is flushed under the bright halogen lights, his gaze still searing as he looks up at Garrett.

"This is a bad idea," Garrett says, even as Fenris closes the distance between them, laying his hands on Garrett's chest and sweet fuck, the way he _looks_  at him, it's all Garrett can do not to drop to his knees right there and then.

"Good," says Fenris, balling his fists in Garrett's shirt and pulling him down to kiss him.

Garrett goes along easily as Fenris drags him into a nearby stall, Garrett fumbling with the lock with one hand as he slides the other up the back of Fenris's shirt, pulling him in close. "How do you want to do this?"

"Just _touch_  me," Fenris growls, biting at Garrett's lower lip for a moment as he wraps an ankle around the back of Garrett's calf, guiding him in so Garrett's thigh slots neatly between Fenris's legs. They both groan a little at this, and for a moment it's just their breathing, the desperate sounds of kissing and the rustle of clothes as Fenris's hands slide down the back of Garrett's pants, pulling him close, needy and demanding and fuck if Garrett doesn't want to give him everything he's asking for and more. His hand travels from Fenris's back, around his hips, but his plan to reach up and tease at one of Fenris's nipples is cut short as his fingertips trail over Fenris's ribs and Fen jerks away with a very slightly muffled yelp.

"Did I-?" Garrett starts to ask, pulling away, then realizes Fenris looks- well, very ruffled, somewhat embarrassed, and a little annoyed, and there's really only one conclusion to draw from all this. "Oh my God, you're ticklish." The glare Fenris cuts him could peel paint off a car, probably, but Garrett is too fucking delighted to care. "Oh my _God_."

"I'm _not-_ " Fenris starts, then breaks into an adorable little snicker as Garrett teases his fingertips over Fenris's ribs, squirming away from him. "Damn it, _Hawke._ "

"Sorry, this is just the best thing that's happened to me all night," Garrett says, grinning. He's about to go again when Fenris snatches up his wrists and _shoves,_  pinning Garrett against the opposite side of the cubicle.

"Scratch that, this is better," Garrett says breathlessly as Fenris stares up at him, looking as though he's trying very hard to be annoyed and not succeeding very well. Something about Fenris pinning his wrists like this and looking at him like he wants to eat him is just... well, Garrett is very extremely turned on right now, is the thing, and he's sure Fenris can feel it, shoved close against him as he is. "This is just great."

"Do that again and I'm borrowing Aveline's handcuffs," Fenris says sternly.

Garrett can't help his soft moan at this, which turns into a laugh as Fenris's eyebrows jump a few centimetres at the sound. "Is that a promise?"

Fenris rolls his eyes and presses in close, pushing up onto his toes to murmur against Garrett's lips. "You're a filthy man, Hawke."

"For you," Garrett says, grinning as Fenris releases one of his wrists to shove him. "You're the one who wanted to get off in a public washroom."

"Your fault," Fenris says, moving sinuously to rub himself off on Garrett's thigh, and Garrett loses his breath for a moment. "Fuck, the way you touch me..."

"Like this?" Garrett says softly, reaching up to start massaging the nape of Fenris's neck again, that sweet spot that seems to turn him to jello. It doesn't disappoint - Fenris lets out a breathless whimper and buries his face in Garrett's chest, hands dropping to the front of Garrett's jeans.

"Can I-?" Fenris asks, and Garrett nods, biting back a low groan as Fenris makes short work of his zipper. He can't help but gasp as Fenris slips his hand into his boxers, pulling him out to take him firmly in hand, the skin-to-skin contact almost debilitatingly overwhelming. "Fuck, fuck- _Fenris_ -"

Fenris muffles him with a kiss, even as he starts to slowly work his hand over Garrett, squeezing and rubbing and teasing the tip of his thumb over the head of Garrett's dick, causing Garrett's head to fall back against the cubicle wall with a dull thud as his knees threaten to give out. "Ah, _fuck,_ that- God, Fenris..."

Garrett can feel Fenris's smug grin against his throat in his next kiss, which turns into a little bite that wrings another whimper from him. Then Fenris pauses a moment, a little hesitant, but before Garrett can ask what's up Fenris growls out something that sounds a little like " _fuck it_ ," and unzips his own jeans.

"Can I...?" Garrett asks, echoing Fenris's question, and man does he ever sound wrecked from a few scant minutes of awkward public washroom necking, but- well, fuck, it's _Fenris._  It honestly doesn't take much to get him there when it's Fenris in his arms, Fenris's lips on his skin, Fenris's hand working him over so gently, given the lack of lube, but with such confidence that Garrett's pretty fucking sure he's not going to last very long. _Again._

Fenris bites his lip, kisses Garrett, and nods.

Garrett's careful as he slips his hand between them, first to brush his knuckles against the bulge in Fenris's briefs and relishing in the way Fenris moans at this, hips hitching against Garrett. Then, carefully, he works his hand past that cotton barrier and pulls him out to the tempo of Fenris's long, indrawn hiss.

It's almost a sense of wonder that he feels, touching Fenris like this. He's a little smaller than Garrett, slimmer, and his skin is incredibly soft even if Fenris most certainly is not. He's circumcised, unlike Garrett, and for a moment Garrett feels an odd pang of self-consciousness before rationalizing that Fenris really doesn't seem like the kind of man who'd give a shit. For a moment Garrett's mouth actually fucking _waters_  at the idea of sucking him, but given the location and the lack of space, he recognizes that's probably not going to happen here.

But he also feels something else a little closer to the base of Fenris, two lines of skin that aren't quite so smooth, and without thinking he looks down.

Tattoos. 

Not covering all of him, just two lines snaking up from the base, tapering off midway. 

" _It's just... not a good memory._ "

" _It was never a matter of choice. I was never given a choice. Do you understand?_ "

For one horrible, awful moment, Garrett feels physically sick.

He looks up, and Fenris is watching him, looking... tired. Just tired. 

And Garrett realizes this is the third time Fenris has had to watch him react to these fucking tattoos, knowing every time he shows another part of himself to Garrett that there would be this horrible moment. And Garrett doesn't have a fucking clue what to say.

He wraps his arm around Fenris's shoulders and hugs him tightly, probably a little too tight, kissing the top of his head, then his cheek, before folding himself around him and burying his face in his soft white hair.

"You don't have to comfort me," Fenris says quietly, wearily, his voice soft and low on Garrett's ear. "It's done."

"I know, just- _Christ_ , I wish-" Fenris stiffens, and Garrett quickly pulls back to look Fenris in the eyes. "No, not like that. Fen, there's _nothing_  I would want to change about you. Not ever. I just kind of really, _really_  want to punch whoever did this to you really hard in the face right now."

Fenris blinks, and the hurt and anger that was building in his expression falls away a little to something softer. He even quirks a little rueful smile. "You're not the only one." The smile fades as he adds, "You can't protect me, Garrett. You don't have to, and I don't need it."

"I know," Garrett says, even though it honestly hurts a little to say. "But is it okay if I want to?"

Fenris tilts his head a little, and something of a smile returns to his lips. "I'll try to get used to it."

Garrett kisses him, glad to feel Fenris kissing him back in equal measure, there and close and _safe_  with him. 

Then Fenris pulls away and says, "This is an odd conversation to have while holding each other's dicks."

"You're not wrong," Garrett says. "Are you sure you still want to-?"

Fenris responds to this by giving Garrett's length a not-so-gentle tug, causing him to break off into a short yelp. 

"That was for trying to kill the mood just now, and for tickling me earlier," Fenris says primly, getting back to work on short-circuiting Garrett's brain with his hand. 

"That's- oh shit, shit, _there-_  that's fair," Garrett grits out, as Fenris finds a particularly sweet spot under the head, and massages it in teasing little circles that are both incredibly, unbearably inflaming, and so fucking _good_  that Garrett's eyes are starting to water. Garrett tightens his grip on Fenris and jacks him once, twice, only to realize that going dry isn't going to work as well on Fenris, given the lack of foreskin. He releases Fenris just long enough to lift his hand to his mouth, licking his palm and fingers before reaching down to take hold of him again. Fenris moans and thrusts into his hand as Garrett works him over, his ministrations stuttering a little as he squirms under Garrett's touch.

"Good?" Garrett whispers, and Fenris nods, arching up against him and reaching up insistently, seeking Garrett's lips, and Garrett is happy to oblige. 

It's clumsy as all shit, hands and lips and broken groans and curses that echo throughout the empty washroom. Fenris is smart enough to grab a wad of toilet paper, just in time to bring Garrett over the edge, kissing the gasps from the edges of his lips, working him all the way to the finish until Garrett is oversensitive and utterly spent.

Fenris finishes only moments later, face buried in Garrett's chest and biting back quiet whimpers, Garrett holding him tight as he shudders in his arms, grasping a little desperately at Garrett's shoulder, his arm, anything he can reach. 

They stand there for a moment, holding one another, sated and comfortable. Fenris pulls back in Garrett's arms just enough to look up at him with a warm, lazy smile.

"This was a stupid idea," Fenris says, sounding utterly pleased with himself.

"I'm okay with it," says Garrett.

They both jump as the main door to the washroom bangs open, and a familiar voice calls, "You assholes done in here? Everyone's settling up and I'm not paying for yours."

Fenris growls and butts his head into Garrett's shoulder. "Can I kill him?"

"If you can find another roommate who doubles as a nurse, sure," Garrett says with a grin, ruffling Fenris's hair. "I get Pounce, you get Haunt?"

"Deal."

"I'm- sweet fuck, I'm standing right here, you know. With ears. _Listening._ "

"Why, hoping you'll hear something you like?" Fenris says, raising his voice a little. " _Ohh,_ Garrett _-_ "

" _Fen,_ don't _stop-!_ "

The door slams shut, and it's a good few minutes before Garrett and Fenris can stop laughing long enough to clean themselves up and follow after.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HELLO EVERYONE IT'S TIME FOR NOTES. I have some personal shit I want to spew, but I'll put that at the bottom so you can skip it if ya want. (CW: drug mention on the first one).
> 
> \- WEED/(basil)(no one calls it basil)(if anything it's oregano): Yes, as previously mentioned, the stereotype about the West Coast and weed is true. HOWEVER, unfortunately right now in BC we're having a crisis with a deadly drug called fentanyl that's getting mixed in with all the shit, and there are reports that even weed (which is usually pretty "safe") is getting contaminated as well. If you live around here and you're into the stuff, please please please get a card, or make sure you're getting your stuff from someone with a card who's getting it straight from the shop. It's honestly not worth the risk otherwise. 
> 
> \- TO HAPPIER THINGS: PORNSTARS! Pornstars are delicious yo, both in shot and cocktail form. It's sour raspberry liqueur, blue curacao, and 7-Up all mixed together and it tastes kind of like a sour Jolly Rancher. However, like all sweet drinks, it can give you a killer hangover if you aren't careful, so please drink responsibly (and if you try your first Pornstar thanks to HSG, maybe send a quick slainté in Foxnonny's direction to help power the next chapter).
> 
> \- Yes, a lot of people with EpiPens carry fannypacks. I am not one of them. But all power to the people who are able to pull them off.
> 
> \- No one can take the headcanon of Fenris being adorably ticklish away from me. Not ever. Leave me to my fluffy lazy morning Fenhawke tickle fights where Fenris is giggling and happy and maybe elbows Garrett in the face between kisses (then discovers that Garrett is also hellishly ticklish, and while Garrett is pretty merciful when it comes to tickling Fen, Fenris is... not so much in return. RIP Garrett u lived a weird life and r gonna die a cute and fluffy death.)
> 
> \- A note about circumcision, because I mentioned it in-text: I am 500000% of the opinion that circumcision should be the penis-haver's choice, and even more 500000000% of the opinion that all peens are good peens. Peens with turtlenecks? 10/10 A+ peen. Little peens? Mighty peens. Circumcised peens? If that's what the peen-haver wants and what makes them happy, major thumbs up on that peen. Trans and intersex peens? Fantastic!! Peens!!! I hear of uncircumcised folks being shamed a lot in media and social circles and it honestly makes me super sad. Be proud of your peen!! (Just don't be a dick about it.)
> 
> (Heh. Get it? Dick.)
> 
> \- I also want to apologize for mentioning the shouty rancid carrot in the last chapter before he was elected. I know that a lot of people who read this kind of story are going to be the ones most affected by everything happening south of the border. Even up here in Canada, I was actually nearly decked in the face on public transit for calling security on a guy who seemed to embrace moldy cheeto's messages and was harassing people, and it was only due to some awesome people who came to my defence that I wasn't hurt.
> 
> HERE STARTS THE PERSONAL BS:
> 
> As it probably has been for everyone, this month has been kind of rough. Kind of spectacularly awful. Coming into finals for classes and battling some brain shit, I've had a hard past couple of weeks, hence why this chapter was delayed. I can honestly say, fully, that the only thing that pushed me to get this chapter up and out, to do something I know makes me happy when my brain isn't a total dumpster fire (and sometimes even then), was hearing from you guys about this story. Knowing that people want to read this is still something I can't begin to wrap my head around to be honest, and I am incredibly, completely and totally blessed that you all have been so kind and lovely. Thank you, and hopefully the next pause between chapters won't be so long.
> 
> To better days, my darlings <3


	23. Meet the Hawkesters

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is what fucking happens when I have two final essays that I don't want to write. I don't sleep and I procrastinate by writing other shit. 
> 
> Also, slight warning on this chapter - #yourfaveisproblematic: Leandra Hawke. God bless white baby boomers.

**From:** **Squirtle Fenslayer**

Heyyyy brother quick tiny question um you're visiting Fen at work right when does he get off?

  
**To:**   **Squirtle Fenslayer**

because you're my innocent baby sister I won't answer that question the way it deserves to be answered

  
**From:** **Squirtle Fenslayer**

Ewwwwww don't be gross >:[  

  
**From:** **Squirtle Fenslayer**

Also I can't believe you pulled a Maribela at the Hanged Man!! While I was sitting right there!! We were all sitting right there!! 

  
**To** : **Squirtle Fenslayer**

"maribela" huh. they should just call it a hawke by this point  

  
**To:** **Squirtle Fenslayer**

whoever is arbitrarily naming these things

 

**From:** **Squirtle Fenslayer**

Varric

 

**To:** **Squirtle Fenslayer**

varric

 

**To:** **Squirtle Fenslayer**

anyway I think he's off at four he's almost on his lunch break so I'll ask

 

**To:** **Squirtle Fenslayer**

why?

 

**From:** **Squirtle Fenslayer**

Well um

 

**From:** **Squirtle Fenslayer**

Please don't be mad but I was talking to mom

 

**To:** **Squirtle Fenslayer**

.............and

**From:** **Squirtle Fenslayer**

Well she wants us all over for family dinner tonight

 

**To:** **Squirtle Fenslayer**

...............all

 

**From:** **Squirtle Fenslayer**

Look she was sad today and I thought I'd cheer her up a little and it just kind of came out and anyway she knows you're dating someone and she kind of really wants to meet him now

 

**To:** **Squirtle Fenslayer**

I'm going to go home and hide all our wine and never tell you where it is

 

**From:** **Squirtle Fenslayer**

:((((( Look I mean you and Fen have been dating for months now I mean that's pretty impressive in terms of like, time spent not having to tell mom about it right?? Anyway she's invited us all over for dinner tonight and she wants him to be there.

 

**From:** **Squirtle Fenslayer**

It won't be so bad right I mean I'll be there and Marian and Bela will be there and Carver's coming so that might help mitigate the whole

 

**From:** **Squirtle Fenslayer**

"Mom meeting the boyfriend"ness of it all

 

**To:** **Squirtle Fenslayer**

is gamlen coming

 

**From:** **Squirtle Fenslayer**

I don't think so? Not that I'm aware of and mom's pretty good about letting us know when he's showing up

 

**To:** **Squirtle Fenslayer**

hmmmmmmm

 

**From:** **Squirtle Fenslayer**

Sorry? Sorry sorry sorry?

 

**To:** **Squirtle Fenslayer**

I'll ask him and I'll consider leaving a merlot out of what is about to become the Great Wine Scavenger Hunt of 2016

 

**From:**   **Squirtle Fenslayer**

Please don't mess with the Mooncurser Carmenère, it's a winery exclusive :((((

 

**To: Squirtle Fenslayer**

....bake one of those lemon meringue pie things within the next week and I'll think about it

 

**From:** **Squirtle Fenslayer**

<33333

 

-

Garrett loves to watch Fenris work.

He loves watching Fenris do a lot of things - laugh, talk, sleep, walk up a flight of stairs in front of him wearing tight jeans, and yes the list is starting to get a little creepy but it's all _true._  The whole "watching Fenris doing things" aspect of their relationship isn't likely to get old anytime soon, for Garrett. And "work" is one of those things. 

He stands outside the café and peers in through the window for a moment, smiling as he watches Fenris chat with a customer, practiced hands working the espresso machines and blenders like it's all reflex and second nature. The customer, a girl who looks like she could be one of Garrett's students, dressed in a loose tank top and shorts with her backpack hanging off one shoulder, laughs at something Fenris says. 

_Charmer._

Garrett pushes his way through the front door, the familiar bell jingling above his head as he enters, causing both Fenris and the girl to look up. Fenris's customer service face breaks into a genuine smile, before he carefully tucks it away again.

"You're early," Fenris says, passing the girl her drink - something chocolatey and blended, with a mountain of whipped cream and chocolate shavings on top. She nods her thanks and retreats to a nearby table, still watching them both a little curiously. "My break doesn't start until-"

"One?" Garrett asks, pulling out his phone and turning the screen on to show Fenris. "That was five minutes ago."

Fenris blinks, and mutters something under his breath, stepping towards the swinging door leading to the backroom of the café. " _Flissa._ "

Flissa pokes her head out the door, an x-acto knife in one hand, a cardboard box in the other. "Hmm?"

"It's past one," Fenris says, untying the back of his apron. "I'm taking my lunch, if that's alright."

"No it isn't," Flissa says, frowning. She balances the knife on the box and pulls out her own phone, squinting at the screen. "Oh. Yes it is. Sorry, Fen, go ahead."

Fenris shakes his head, smiling, and shoves his apron under the counter before slipping out from behind it. He gives Garrett's hand a little squeeze, leaning up on his toes to kiss him. "It's nice to see you. I notice you didn't come empty-handed."

"Apple danishes," Garrett says, lifting the brown paper bag from Cob's with a smile. "Wanna head outside for a bit?"

Fenris nods, then squints at something over Garrett's shoulder. "Is everything alright?"

Garrett turns to see Fenris's customer staring at them both. If this were a Disney movie, her eyes would be absolutely fucking heart-shaped by her expression.

"Sorry," she says quickly, turning back to her drink. "You two are just- really cute. Sorry."

Fenris snorts, and Garrett just grins. "It's because we're both so devastatingly handsome, right?"

" _Stop_ ," Fenris says, pushing Garrett out the door, the girl's shy giggles following them out into the July sunshine. 

They find a relatively clean bench not too far away from the café, and while the scent of the city is far from romantic - garbage bins heating up in the July sun, cigarette and weed smoke and car exhaust mingling in a likely cancerous fume - every once in a while the breeze turns, and the fresh salt off the sea fills the air instead. Garrett decides to wait until _after_  Fenris has started in on one of the apple custard danishes, then steels his courage and asks, "Hey, Fen, um- you doing anything tonight?"

"I had no plans," Fenris shrugs, leaning into Garrett's side with a smile and taking another bite of pastry, mouth full as he asks, "Why?"

Garrett cringes a little and says, "My, um- my mom wants to meet you."

Fenris chokes. 

Garrett pulls a water bottle out of his satchel and hands it to Fenris, who accepts it with a sputtering nod, still wheezing a little. "You're not trying to die on me again, right? Twice in one month would be a little much."

"Fuck off," Fenris coughs, and downs a few swallows of water with a wince. "Sorry, not to be dramatic, but _what?_ "

"Bethy spilled the beans," Garrett explains. "Um, and my mom is kind of- she's a really nice lady, and I love her, but she can be- nosy's not really the right word. Anyway, she's doing a family dinner tonight in Ladner. You don't have to come, I promise, I can tell her you're sick or working a double shift or-"

" _Hawke_ ," Fenris says, and Garrett shuts up. "I didn't say no."

Garrett's heart lifts a little. "Yeah?"

"I can't pretend I'm not... a little, um, less than thrilled by the idea of it, but- well, I imagine it was bound to happen sooner or later, right?"

Garrett stares. _Bound to happen sooner or later._  Like maybe Fenris is starting to think of this as a long-term thing.

Maybe a permanent thing.

Great, now _his_  eyes are probably doing that stupid heart-shaped Disney thing. 

"Yeah," Garrett says again, grinning. He takes Fenris's face in his hands and kisses him, tasting apple and icing sugar. Fenris, clearing fighting another cough, kisses him back for just a moment before pulling away for another sip of water. "Oops. Sorry. You're the best, though."

"Aren't I just," Fenris says, and smiles.

 

-

**To: Mama Hawke**

ok mom fen is coming for dinner but there's some stuff I need you to not ask him about okay

 

**From: Mama Hawke**

!!! SO EXCITED to meet ur new bf ;)) I already know about the peanut thing so everything will be safe for him to eat :)

 

**To: Mama Hawke**

thanks ur great ok but this is important I need you to memorize this list of things not to bug him about

 

**From: Mama Hawke**

Nearly 30 and ur still worried ur mother's going 2 embarrass u??

 

**To: Mama Hawke**

it's not like that I promise there's just some stuff and that stuff is:

1\. don't ask him about his family

2\. don't ask him about his tattoos

3\. pretty much all of those questions u love asking like "where r u from what was ur childhood like can I see ur dental records" pls pls don't ask

like just focus as much as u can on present stuff like hey fen what's it like working in a café what r ur customers like what's ur favourite book/movie like just nice and superficial and everything will be dandy

 

**From: Mama Hawke**

.....can I ask why I can't ask?

 

**From: Mama Hawke**

also tattoos??? oh dear garrett is he a hipster

 

**To: Mama Hawke**

mom we're all twenty-something vancouverites ok we're all hipsters there's just no escaping it

 

**To: Mama Hawke**

and as for asking why no asking he's just... kind of had a rough go of it and I don't want to stress him out

 

**From: Mama Hawke**

*sigh* alright then but I expect real answers to some of these questions at some point, alright? preferably before the wedding.

 

**To: Mama Hawke**

DO NOT MENTION WEDDINGS

 

**To: Mama Hawke**

OR CHILDREN

 

**From: Mama Hawke**

is that part of his mysterious troubled past as well, or?

 

**To: Mama Hawke**

NO WE JUST HAVEN'T TALKED ABOTU IT YET AND WE'VE ONLY BEEN DATING FOR A FEW MONTHS MOM

 

**From: Mama Hawke**

ah

 

-

 

**To: Mommy Dearest**

Bela's coming to dinner tonight mom, so please don't bring up the whole possibly leaving the country thing. Ok?

 

**From: Mommy Dearest**

maybe I should just gag myself for the evening and have done, hmm?

 

**To: Mommy Dearest**

...I take it Garrett texted you

 

**From: Mommy Dearest**

mhm

 

-

 

The ride to Ladner is a little ridiculous, and requires a two-car convoy of four Hawkes and two Hawke-partners to get the job done. 

Marian and Bela take Marian's sedan up to the SkyTrain station to pick up Carver as Garrett swings back around the house to grab Bethany, then downtown again to pick up Fenris after work. The drive to Ladner is long, and Fenris is quiet while Garrett and Bethany bicker good-naturedly over who should control the music.

City gives way to farmland and long stretches of highway, which turns into spots of housing, copses of trees, and soccer fields. They pass by the few blocks of actual town that is Ladner Village, and pull into a familiar cul-de-sac.

"It always feels weird coming back here, doesn't it?" Bethany murmurs, as Garrett parks under the shade of an oak tree, just outside his mother's house. "Probably weirder for you, you've been moved out longer."

"It's weird," Garrett admits. To Fenris, he says, "Last chance to bail?"

Bethany smacks his shoulder, and Fenris just smiles. "I'm fine, Hawke."

He leans back to fish a brown paper bag out of the back seats - a bottle of wine for Leandra, which makes Garrett smile a little, that Fenris thought to pick one up. Insisted on it, in fact. 

Marian, Bela, and Carver are already at the house, so it's Marian who opens the door for them when they knock. She grins at them, eyeing Fenris's bottle of wine with a distinctly hungry expression. "That'll come in handy."

"It's for your mother," Fenris says, cradling the wine protectively. 

"Is that them?"

Leandra pokes her head out from around the corner, tendrils of grey hair escaping her ponytail as she looks at them each in turn, eyes lighting up as she catches sight of Fenris.

"Move," she says brusquely, herding Marian out of the way as she comes to greet them. "Bethy, Gary, and you must be Fen! My goodness, aren't you stunning? Are you into modelling? You certainly look like it."

Garrett wants to die.

"Er, not tall enough," Fenris says, sounding a little taken aback. He glances back at Garrett, then to Leandra again, holding out the wine. "It's a Riesling, I wasn't sure-"

"Riesling will pair perfectly, thank you, how thoughtful," Leandra says, taking the wine and pulling Fenris into a hug. Fenris doesn't seem to know what to do with his hands, and after a moment of uncertain movement, lets them drop to his sides. "The fact you know what a Riesling _is_  puts you ahead of Gary, poor lamb. He takes after his father, sadly, never did learn to appreciate the finer things."

"Mom, could we maybe take this into the house?" Garrett says, taking pity on Fenris, still standing stoic and stiff in Leandra's embrace.

"Of course, of course, come in," says Leandra, ushering them through into the front hall. "Just kick your shoes into the closet there, we have chips and drinks in the kitchen when you're ready."

As Leandra hurries off into the kitchen, leaving Garrett, Bethany, and Fenris to slip out of their shoes, Fenris murmurs to Garrett, "Gary?"

"I have no explanation," Garrett says.

"Does she call your sister... Mary, by any chance? Mary and Gary?"

"I think that's what my dad was hoping for when he suggested the names," Garrett says, unlacing his boots as Fenris nudges his shoes into the closet a little tentatively. "But Mom caught on."

"And?"

" _Annie, could you grab some more chicken broth from the pantry?_ "

Marian emerges into the hallway from the kitchen, catching sight of Garrett and Fenris staring at her.

"Still better than Gary," she says, a little defensively, and turns down the hall towards the pantry.

"Ah," says Fenris. 

They join the others in the kitchen - Carver's at the sink washing dishes, Isabela lounging back against the counter and showing Leandra something on her phone, Bethany cracking open a bottle of red with wine glasses at the ready. The first she pours and immediately offers to Fenris, who takes it with a very grateful nod.

"Now my children will be the first to tell you I'm not much of a cook, but we're having pork," Leandra says, offering Fenris a warm smile. "Oh, I should have asked- that's alright, isn't it? Garrett never mentioned if you're religious or not, or what religion, for that matter-"

"I'm not," Fenris says quickly. "Pork sounds very good, thank you."

"He's so polite, Gary, you did always manage to land the nice ones," Leandra says, pressing a quick kiss to Bethany's cheek as she slips a full wine glass into Leandra's hand. "Good girl. So not religious at all, then? No Christian background, or- well, you don't exactly look Christian, but there's really no telling these days."

"Oh God, Mom," Bethany murmurs, as Garrett thinks longingly of fleeing into the summer night, never to return.

"What? It's a sociological observation, Beth, you know I don't see colour," Leandra says, waving a hand. Isabela glances up from her phone to cast an incredibly amused look Garrett's way, who returns the look with a sincerely apologetic grimace. "Anyway, I'm only asking because of Gary's last boyfriend. Poor Sebastian, he was such a nice boy before he got all churchy."

Fenris manages to cover his snort with a cough, and takes a very long sip of wine as Garrett winces and says, "Um, actually, they- they know each other, Mom. Fen and Seb."

"What, really?" Leandra says, eyebrows lifting. "That's... well, that's a little odd. Is that how you two met? I didn't know you were speaking with him."

"Just a coincidence," Fenris says.

"Small world," Leandra says. "Alright, how did you two meet, then? Details are welcomed and appreciated."

Fenris and Garrett trade a look, both at an utter loss. _Right, yes, the perfectly Hallmark story of how I met Fenris while on a date with another man, and got to know him through multiple dates with other men. A mother's dream._

"I'll take this one, actually," Isabela says, leaning in, and both Fenris and Garrett release twin sighs of relief. "It was actually kind of my fault."

To her credit, she does manage to make the parade of potential hook-ups for Garrett sound like a charming romantic comedy, rather than the slightly desperate and skeevy venture it felt like at the time. She gracefully leaves out his near miss with his landlord's underage son, but does bring up some of his more unpleasant encounters, always painting Fenris as the dashing hero who comes to rescue him last-minute. Marian shows up in the kitchen again about halfway through, and catches on quickly, smirking at Garrett as she swipes a beer from the fridge and joins Bela at the counter.

"Well," Leandra says, once Isabela finishes with a slightly cleaner ending than what actually occurred (in her version, Fenris says "yes" the moment Garrett asks him out, instead of kissing him and bolting), "That's all very sweet, really. And it's not awkward, what with the whole... 'Sebastian' thing? Poor Gary was a right mess when that all went down, Fen, as a mother it was hard to watch."

" _Mom_ ," Garrett groans, as Fen says, "Sebastian actually spoke to me about Garrett before we ever met, just never mentioning names. He is... regretful."

"As he should be," Leandra mutters, but she does sound a little mollified by Fenris's words. "Still, all in the past though, yes? You both seem happy."

Garrett glances at Fenris, who catches his look and returns it with a smile.

"Yeah," Garret says softly, grinning. "Yeah, I'd say so."

"Well, that's all a mother needs to hear, isn't it?" Leandra says. "Alright, what about you two- Carver? Bethany? Anything I should know?"

"Well, Carver-" Bethany starts, but breaks off into a yelp as a rapidly-reddening Carver swats her with a tea towel, and quickly changes the subject.

 

-

 

The dinner itself goes well enough - the pork is a little dry, the vegetables boiled half to death, but there's enough wine to go around to keep everyone happy. Fenris charms Leandra with stories about customers and discussions of wine pairings that go far over Garrett's head, Carver and Marian talk about working with Pheus and the rest of the crew, and Bela casually warns everyone to update their computer firewalls, citing a megavirus that's started affecting software across the country, bypassing security and stealing personal information. She carefully avoids mentioning how she knows so much about it.

Garrett and Marian are the first to stand and start clearing away dishes - per family tradition, the younger twins help out before dinner, the older ones after - but as he reaches down to take Leandra's plate, she shakes her head and stands, taking his wrist in hand. "Come with me for a minute."

Garrett trades nonplussed looks with his siblings, but lets Leandra lead him from the dining room regardless.

She takes him upstairs, past the old bedrooms that have been converted to guest rooms and storage space, now that all the kids have moved out, and into the master bedroom. It's smaller than the one Leandra had shared with Malcolm in Cloverdale, and a little empty by comparison. There's some tasteful art on the walls, and a picture of Malcolm on one of the bedside tables, but otherwise the room is spotless.

Garrett remembers what the bedroom in Cloverdale had been like when Malcolm was alive, and healthy. There was breakfast in bed sometimes on Sunday mornings, all the kids piled in with their parents. Leandra would scold anyone who dared get maple syrup on the sheets, while Malcolm would put far too much whipped cream on everything, and it would inevitably wind up in someone's hair or on the tips of their noses. There would be gym socks on the floor that Leandra would smack her husband with when discovered, and the bed was hardly ever made as inevitably one of the kids would sneak in there during the day, and start jumping on the amazingly springy queen-sized mattress.

It got quieter when Malcolm got sick. Cleaner. And then, empty. 

"Where is it?" Leandra murmurs to herself, searching through one of her dresser drawers. Garrett shakes his head a little, dispelling the memories and bringing himself back into the present. "Oh, here we are. I keep forgetting I got a proper box for it."

Garrett turns to see his mother offering him a small velvet ring box. His jaw drops.

"Mom," he says, his voice a little funny to his own ears as he blinks, and frowns. "Um, I did- I did _mention_  we've only been dating for a few months, right? And the whole 'no bringing up weddings' thing is still in effect?"

"Just take it, Gary, don't be difficult," Leandra says crisply.

Garrett takes the box, and with no small sense of trepidation, flicks it open.

The box contains a large, tarnished silver Claddagh ring, worn and dented from years of active wear. Set inside the heart is a deep red garnet, a tiny chip in one of the facets.

Garrett swallows hard. He knows this ring. He just hasn't seen it in sixteen years.

"You know the story, of course," Leandra says softly. "Your grandmother purchased that ring for your grandfather back in Dublin. 1952, I think it was? Made use of the Leap Year tradition to propose to him. When he died, the ring went to your father, and now- well, it's time it goes to you, I think."

Garrett sniffs and smiles, and says, "I know that Amy Adams movie was an affront to Dad's heritage, but I actually kind of liked it."

"I won't tell him if you don't," Leandra says with a rueful smile. "It doesn't have to be an engagement ring, Gary, but... the way you look at him. I've never seen you look at anyone like that. Believe me, I've seen you infatuated, I've seen you in love, but this- it's different, isn't it?"

Garrett bites his lip, and nods.

"As I thought. A mother's intuition is very rarely wrong." She reaches over and closes the box for him, pressing it into his hand. "It doesn't have to be him, I won't put that pressure on you, but I think you're ready for it to be _someone_. You'll know when the time is right."

Garrett squeezes the box, but finds himself frowning. "Mom, shouldn't Marian have this? I mean, she and Isabela-"

Leandra sighs, shaking her head. "I gave her my ring last year, the one your father gave me. As far as I know, she still has it."

Garrett blinks, not entirely sure what to make of this. "Oh. She, um- she never told me."

"I don't imagine she would have," Leandra says. "It _worries_ me that she still has it, to be honest. I know it's none of my business, but this whole thing- keeping things from Bela, I mean- I wouldn't have picked Bela for her myself, but I do truly believe she loves that woman, for better or for worse. She just seems to be having some difficulties... well, giving her heart away, so to speak." Leandra nods to the ring box. "She's afraid to take that leap, and I'm worried it's going to end badly for her if she lets that fear hold her back."

"She's always done things her own way, Mom," Garrett says, though... well, it's not like Leandra's saying anything he hasn't thought himself. "She'll figure it out."

"I'm sure she will," Leandra says, with a sad smile. "The question is whether or not she'll figure it out in time."

Garrett nods, and holds the ring box to his chest for a moment, before tucking it into his jeans pocket and pulling his mother in for a tight hug. "Thanks, Mom."

She kisses his cheek, and sighs. "You're so much like him, you know. You really are. That boy downstairs is very lucky to have you."

"You're gonna make me cry," Garrett laughs, a little shakily. "I don't look good when I cry, it's gross and upsetting for everyone involved."

"Oh, stop it," Leandra says, pulling away and resting her hands on Garrett's shoulders. "You're young and in love - what on Earth is there to cry about?"

Garrett doesn't have a good answer to that, so he smiles instead, and doesn't cry.

Later, once all the dishes are done and a round of coffee is had, and they've all said their goodbyes, Garrett climbs into the driver's seat with Fenris riding shotgun, Bethany curling up in the back to nap. "So, not too terrible or scary a night, then?"

Fenris gives Garrett a sardonic look, but smiles. "Your mother is a lovely woman, Hawke. Not too terrible or scary a night at all, no."

"Good," Garrett says, pulling off the curb and onto the street. "Save that terror for when you meet my Uncle Gamlen though, he makes my mom look like a paragon of social justice and intersectionality."

"I can't wait," Fenris says dryly.

Still, he places his scarred, tattooed hand on arm rest between them. Garrett takes his hand, twining their fingers together, and smiles.

And he stays like that for the rest of the ride home: the feeling of Fenris's hand kept close and safe in his own, balanced against the weight of the ring box in his pocket; the serenity of the moment weighed against all thoughts of the future, and he finds it's not at all too terrible or scary a place to be. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NOTES TIME. BAM.
> 
> \- I have a sneaking suspicion I've explained Claddagh rings before... somewhere... but hell, I'm gonna do it again. If you don't know what the fuck I'm talking about when I mention Claddagh, you've probably seen the symbol before and not known what it is. Traditionally worn as a ring, the Claddagh symbol is two hands holding a crowned heart, and it's meant to signify love, family, and friendship (or love, loyalty, and friendship specifically - gra, dilseacht, cairdeas). These are rings that you buy or acquire to give away, to family, close friends, or in a lot of cases, lovers. Every woman (or in my case, girl-shaped nb person) in my family from my mom's side has one. I was given my first one when I was very small, and predictably lost the damn thing when I was about fourteen. My mom expressly forbade me from buying another one to replace it - not as like, punishment for losing it or anything, but because that's just not how it works. My parents gave me another one when I graduated high school, and I still have it (helps that it fits perfectly and I never take it off). If you've read my other fics, specifically ones with Mahanon Lavellan in them, you'll know I'm first gen Canadian from an English-Irish Catholic family, so a lot of that history informs what I write. 
> 
> Fun fact: I wrote the first chapter of Heart Says Go back in March/April, while also writing the first chapter for another potential long!fic called Belfast Child. It was going to be set in Northern Ireland in the 1960s, drawing on some of my own family history and what happened during the Troubles. Obviously it was planned to be a much darker fic than this one, and while I'm still attached to the idea of it, as someone who does not live in Ireland I didn't feel like I could honestly do the subject matter justice, however much my own family has been affected by the fallout of that period. But it was definitely 50/50 at the time, which story I was going to follow through with, and I'm ultimately super glad I chose Heart Says Go.
> 
> \- I looked it up - as far as I know Cob's Bread is Canadian thing, and I'm so sorry, rest of the world, because it's fucking amazing. It's a bread-specific bakery. A breadery? Anyway everything in it is delicious and their custard danishes are amazing and their cinnamon rolls are to die for and their baguettes are the best things to ever happen to manking and just... Cob's Bread. Tell your friends.
> 
> \- Also a random lil note about BC Wineries - we have some really??? Great wine here??? It's mostly grown in the interior in the Okanagan area, where Ogopogo lives (OAK-a-NAW-gan, and yes, we have a Loch Ness-style sea monster called Ogopogo). Mooncurser is a real winery, their carmenère is a real thing, and one of the most pretentious moments of my life was spent discussing the history of the carmenère grape with a French sommelier at the winery, in French. 
> 
> \- Also also, keeping up with the timeline of this fic is weird - not only because we're almost at the end of the year, but because I'm writing about July and there's a fucking foot of snow outside my window. No, that's not normal. Vancouver hasn't had a dump like this in years. Look up Vancouver Snowpocalypse if you want to see what I'm talking about.
> 
> AS ALWAYS, your comments, your kudos, your overall encouragement is astounding and so incredibly important to me. I know I say this literally at the end of every goddamn chapter to a probably annoying extent, but I'm just always so incredibly grateful for your support. Thank you, thank you, go raibh maith agat agus mo míle mbeannacht ort!!


	24. Thomas the Tank Engine Has a Lot to Answer For

Marian wakes up from a warm, delicious dream - something about rose petals? beef jerky was also involved - to the feeling of her girlfriend trailing kisses down over her bare stomach, a thumb hooked in the waistband of her underwear.

"Damn it," says Bela, barely glancing up. "I was hoping you wouldn't wake up until I'd gotten your panties off. I managed it last year."

"You're slipping," Marian says, voice hoarse. She cards her fingers through Bela's hair, smiling. "Morning."

"Happy birthday," says Bela, scooting back up the bed to kiss Marian's nose. "Eighty-two, right? Or is that backwards?"

Marian shoves Bela's shoulder with a laugh. "Jerk."

Waking each other up with sex is a little birthday tradition of theirs, as ingrained and annually enforced as Marian's personal tradition of hacking into Garrett's phone and programming his alarm to play an unholy mash-up of the _Thomas the Tank Engine_  theme and 50 Cent's "In Da Club." 

(This tradition nearly died with the advent of password-encoded smartphones, but very luckily Marian's girlfriend is a skilled hacker, and so the ritual lives on.)

"Your phone keeps buzzing, by the way," Bela says, even as she slips her hand between Marian's legs and starts to rub her through her panties. "They're starting early today."

"S'what happens when the network has a New York office," Marian says breathlessly, tightening her grasp on Bela's hair to give it a little tug.

Bela's hand stills, and she gives Marian a thoroughly wicked smile. "Shall I hold?"

"It can fucking wait," Marian growls, and pulls a laughing Bela into a kiss.

-

Garrett wakes up with the sun, blinking a few times to adjust to the light. He smiles.

Fenris always seems to curl up in his sleep, like he's trying to make himself as small as possible. Garrett has absolutely lost him in his blankets before, having to feel around carefully for a tiny, Fenris-shaped lump hidden under layers of sheets and pillows. Recently, however, Fenris's preferred hiding spot while sleeping seems to be burrowed in as close to Garrett as possible.

This morning he's huddled up against Garrett's side, part of his face barely visible under a gather of blankets clutched tight in his fist, hair obscuring his features a little bit. Garrett doesn't mind the blanket theft so much these days, during the hot summer months, but he's seriously considering putting together a basket of emergency blankets under his side of the bed for when Fenris inevitably leaves him to freeze to death come winter.

 _Fenris's side of the bed. Planning for winter._  

These had been hopeful, wishful things only a month ago, but with every passing week it gets easier to imagine a future. No, he's always imagined a future with Fenris- easier to imagine that that future might come true.

It's all the little things, it's always the little things. It's in how Fenris has stolen at least five of Garrett's shirts with a frighteningly adorable lack of repentance, and Garrett doesn't mind if he ever gets them back so long as he gets to see Fenris wear one every once in a while. How they've managed to move from those awkward first stages of any relationship, trying to parse one another out, into something more breathable. More livable. 

Garrett doesn't worry about the pace, fast or slow, doesn't worry about time. Fenris is here. It's really the only thing that matters.

"Happy birthday," he whispers to himself, watching the gentle rise and fall of Fenris's shoulders under the mess of blankets, fighting the urge to break this particular spell with a kiss.

 

" _ **GO! GO! GO! GO SHAWTY IT'S YOUR BIRTHDAY WE GON' PARTY LIKE IT'S YO BIRTHDAY-**_ "

 

Fenris jolts awake with a little shout as Garrett scrambles to find his phone. " _Hawke!_ "

"Sorry, sorry- Jesus, every year-" Garrett snatches up his phone and slams his thumb on the "snooze" button, killing the awful jangling. "Sweet fuck, this shit is thumbprint protected, how the fuck-? Christ she's good."

Fenris groans and falls back against the mattress, pulling a pillow over his face. "What in the name of all unholy fuckwits was that?"

"Family tradition," Garrett sighs, putting his phone aside. He snuggles in close against Fenris, slinging an arm over his chest and kissing the knuckles of the hand currently pressing Garrett's pillow against his face as if trying to smother himself. "Morning. Guess what?"

"Hmm?"

"It's my birthday."

Fenris moves the pillow away and gives Garrett a very dry look. "So I heard."

"It's only eight," Garrett says, pressing his lips to Fenris's shoulder. "I don't really have to hop in the shower till eight-thirty."

"Hmm," says Fenris again, Garrett trailing kisses from his shoulder to his collarbone. Then he turns over, hugging Garrett's arm to his chest and closing his eyes. "I'll see you then."

Garrett pouts, shuffling close to cuddle Fenris properly. "Alright."

Fenris snorts, and gives Garrett's hand a little tug. "I mean, I'll see you _in the shower_  at eight-thirty."

Garrett blinks. Grins. 

" _I love you_ " is on his lips, but what he says instead is, "You're the best boyfriend ever, and I'm really sorry about Thomas the Tank Engine."

"That was _not_  Thomas the Tank Engine."

"It's the hot new single off his solo album, Fen. ' _T-Tank-E Blowz off Some Steam._ '"

" _Shh._ "

-

Marian comes out of the office kitchen with a black coffee in hand, skimming through a chain of e-mails, but stops short at the sound of a posh, irritably charming voice oozing from down the hall.

"-really so much fun, Alaine, the crew is just _superb_  to work with. So much Canadian charm."

Marian hears a light sprinkle of laugher, and edges back into the kitchen with a grimace.

"Not a fan of Pheus?"

Marian looks over to see Cullen putting slices of cheese and apples on a plate, watching her with clear amusement.

"Not as much as Pheus is a fan of Pheus," Marian says, and Cullen snorts. "What's your take on him?"

"About the same," Cullen says, leaning back against the counter. "That's why Alaine does all the talking. She's the one who used to be an actor, after all. She does the politicking way better than I can."

"Hard to keep a straight face in this industry," Marian says. "I got your text - you wanted to have a meeting after lunch? It was very mysterious."

Cullen shrugs, and says, "I was waiting on confirmation from New York, but it's looking pretty damn confirmed. Our guy at the network just went over some test footage."

Marian raises an eyebrow. "You sent him _dailies?_ "

"More of a rough-cut trailer? _Really_ rough cut. He's a friend, and anyway, the network is eager to see if this whole thing is feasible as soon as possible. They're really looking for a competitive line-up to beat out some of the big-names, you know?" Cullen grins, and toasts Marian with an apple slice. "Apparently they really like what they see. Obviously they're still waiting on the actual finished product, but short of an act of God-" Cullen knocks on wood, "-they're going to pick up the series."

Marian's heart drops down to her feet, black coffee turning over in her stomach. "Uh- um. Oh?"

"They're not going to start a proper publicity campaign until it's gone through all the proper steps, so we're not looking at real, signed-off confirmation until- fuck, October, if we're lucky? More likely November or December. But we might start production rolling as soon as January. We're already looking at locations in Ireland and Scotland, and casting there knows something big is coming down the pipes. Exciting, yeah?"

"Uh-"

"My God, I thought the man was going to start blowing himself right there in the hallway," mutters Alaine, stalking into the kitchen. She stops short at the look on Marian's face, and shoots a pointed look at her husband. "Dear, weren't we saving this discussion for _after_  lunch?"

"Read New York's last e-mail," Cullen says, waving his apple slice. "They like the aesthetic, they like the writing, they like the sample pieces of score Maryden's sent them-"

"Did they say anything about Pheus?" Alaine asks quietly, putting the kettle on.

"Uh, no, actually," Cullen says, frowning. "They singled out Allegra as doing a brilliant job as the Seeker, and they said they liked the casting picks on the whole, but that was about it."

Alaine is quiet as she pulls a tea bag out of the cupboard and drops it into an enormous ceramic mug. She turns to Marian. "What's your take on Pheus? You've been to set, you've spoken to him a few times."

Marian is still recovering a little from the reality bomb Cullen just dropped on her head, and has to think a moment. About what to say, and what not to say.

She wants to mention Pheus's relentless bullying of Mahanon, but she did make a promise, and she knows that isn't her particular war to try to win.

"Kind of a prick," she says finally. "The crew's not a fan, but as far as I know he hasn't committed any fireable offences. Just who he is as a person is kind of shitty."

Alaine sighs. "What I thought. It made sense casting him- it _still_  makes sense casting him, he _is_  a good actor, damn it. And he has a bit of a following already, so we're not exactly starting from scratch with him."

"To be fair, you were never sold on anyone after Mahanon turned it down," Cullen says. "Still not sure why he did."

"Quarter-life crisis?" Alaine says. "I don't know."

Marian considers trying to explain it to them - how the choices you make, and how much you put yourself in the spotlight, how it's all just _different_  when you're not straight. Or, hell, part of any minority, for that matter. She considers trying to explain how the pressure is different, how you have to hold yourself a certain way because millions of people like you will be held up to your standard by those who will never see you as anything but _other_ , and how unfair it is. 

She likes Cullen, and she likes Alaine, She likes them both quite a lot. But she's not quite prepared to hold an "Intersections of LGBTQ Politics and Publicity" seminar with them. Not at ten in the morning, at any rate.

"Anyway," Alaine says, shaking her head and turning to Marian. "Cat's out of the bag, now. It's looking like it's really happening. You're going to come with us, right?"

Marian blinks, and for a moment, all she can think of is Isabela's smile.

"Yeah," she finds herself saying, almost automatically, and she realizes that she honestly never intended to give any other answer. "I mean, England in winter, right? Who would say no to that?"

Alaine is visibly relieved, and crosses the kitchen to give Marian a quick one-armed hug. "I'm so glad, Marian, I really am. Hey, is it really your birthday today? We should get some champagne at lunch, celebrate everything properly."

Marian leaves the kitchen as Cullen and Alaine debate over sending Bodahn out to the liquor store, or one of them going out themselves. She slips into her office and closes the door.

She spends the next ten minutes trying to draft a text to Bela, but winds up tossing her phone onto her desk with a frustrated sigh, and puts her face in her hands.

_Not today. I'm not doing this today. Not on my birthday._

 

-

 

**To: Turkey**

So we're going into night shoots tomorrow yeah your call time isn't going to be until something ridiculous like one.

 

**From: Turkey**

.....yeah?

 

**To: Turkey**

That means you have no excuse you're coming to the Hanged Man for a birthday drink with me and Garrett and everyone.

 

**From: Turkey**

ugh fine

 

**To: Turkey**

And you're bringing Merrill

 

**From: Turkey**

?????

 

**To: Turkey**

Because she's fun to hang out with and she needs a break that's why.

 

**From: Turkey**

ugh FINE but if you guys are weird I'm kicking garrett's ass

 

**To: Turkey**

I'm absolutely alright with these terms.

 

-

 

**To: Captain Pippi Longstocking**

Bring hot cop

 

**From: Captain Pippi Longstocking**

His name is Don and no.

 

**To: Captain Pippi Longstocking**

It's my birthday and what I want for my birthday is two hot cops if you bring just yourself I'll only have one.

 

**From: Captain Pippi Longstocking**

Flattery will not help you

 

**To: Captain Pippi Longstocking**

So excited to see you both tonight xoxo

 

**From: Captain Pippi Longstocking**

>:[

 

-

 

"-and you'll be getting your essays back next week, which is also when your final projects are due and we'll be going over exam materials."

Garrett is saying all this, but he's not sure why he's bothering - all of his students look so anxious to get out of the stuffy classroom that he's surprised they haven't started a stampede, mowing him down in the wake. 

"Alright, everybody out," Garrett says, waving a hand and carefully angling himself behind the shelter of his desk to avoid a _Lion King_ -esque tragedy as everyone rushes for the door. " _Walk_ , don't run, it's too hot for that."

Garrett hears an odd yelp, and looks up to see Fenris barely managing to dodge out of the way of a scampering first-year, waving off apologies as he carries on into the classroom.

"That would have been a hell of a way to go," says Garrett mildly. 

"They'll have to be faster than that," Fenris mutters, and Garrett laughs.

Fenris comes up to Garrett's desk as Garrett gathers his things, stuffing loose papers and folders into his leather messenger bag that's already looking worn and full to bursting. 

"Here," Fenris says, passing Garrett a thermos. "You're the only man I know who orders hot coffee in ninety-degree heat. It's disturbing."

"Ninety degrees? _Really?_ " Garrett takes the thermos and leans over to kiss Fenris on the cheek, adding, "Last I checked it was only thirty-two. Did the sun jump a few _metres_  closer to the Earth?"

Fenris rolls his eyes, leaning back against Fenris's desk. "Smartass."

"It's my _birthday,_  you're not allowed to call me names," Garrett says. "Not unless those names are 'darling,' 'sweetheart,' 'hot stuff,' or 'babe.'"

Fenris raises an eyebrow and drawls, " _Darling_ , you're a smartass."

Garrett grins, and tries not to look as suddenly charmed as he feels. Fenris has never called him anything other than "Hawke" or "Garrett," so far, and "darling..." well, it sounds nice, rolling off Fenris's tongue. Even sarcastically.

"See, that's better," Garrett says. "You're getting to know the campus pretty well, huh?"

Fenris shrugs. "This part of it, at least. I'll admit, it's a little strange coming here as neither a student nor a member of the faculty."

"Would you ever consider going back to school?" Garrett asks, not thinking.

His words catch up to him in the wake of Fenris's silence, and he winces. "Sorry-"

"No, no, it- it's a fair question," Fenris says, drumming his fingers on the desk. "I'm a bit old for that, aren't I?"

"Some of my students are older than you- hell, older than me," Garrett says, uncapping the thermos. "It's never too late to learn."

Fenris sighs. "Sometimes I wonder..." He shakes his head, and says, "I, um- I don't read very well."

Garrett pauses mid-sip, and lowers his thermos. "You're dyslexic?"

"That's what Sebastian seems to think," Fenris shrugs. "I don't remember ever being particularly good at it, but... I think- I think the incident that caused the amnesia might have, um, affected that as well."

Garrett blinks, and starts to feel like a massive idiot for not knowing, or- fuck, maybe not _noticing_  that this was something Fenris struggled with. "You seem to text okay..."

"Autocorrect helps, and I take my time," Fenris says, tapping his phone with a rueful smile. "When Sebastian found out, he was convinced the 'cure' would just be to read _more_. It has been helping, but... I mean, there's a reason I'm only on the third Harry Potter book. I started the series over a year ago."

"Oh," Garrett says, because he remembers Fenris mentioning that, but- well, he just didn't think. "Lots of post-secondary institutes are really good about that kind of thing now- in Canada, at least. If you really wanted to, I could help - I mean, ostensibly I'm supposed to be a good teacher."

Fenris tilts his head. "I might take you up on that. For now, however, it's not really something I think about." He straightens and adds, "And anyway, I didn't come here to whine."

"It's not whining, and I don't mind listening," Garrett says, leaning across the desk to take Fenris's hand, giving it a little squeeze. "You've got a sexy voice, Fen, it's nice to listen to."

Fenris snorts. "Even so. I wanted to give you something before we got to the Hanged Man. I know everyone is doing gifts there, but-"

"The coffee would have gone cold by then," Garrett says, nodding. "Thank you, it's fantastic. Did I mention you're a genius in the art of caffeination? Because you are."

Fenris stares blankly at him, the way he tends to do when Garrett is being an idiot. "The coffee isn't your birthday gift, Hawke."

Garrett blinks. "Oh?"

"I give you free coffee literally all the time."

"But you came all this way-"

"I did that last week. We were just talking about how often I do this."

"I-" Garrett scrubs a hand over his face, grinning sheepishly. "In my defence, I haven't had my coffee yet."

"You're an idiot," Fenris says, mouth twitching into a grin as he comes around the side of the desk and sidles in front of Garrett, leaning up for a kiss.

Garrett stops him with a finger on his lips. "Birthday. You're not allowed to call me names unless they're on the pre-approved list."

"' _Sweetheart_ ,' you're an idiot? ' _Hot stuff_ ,' really a hugely colossal moron at times?"

"Better." Garrett traces Fenris's lower lip with his fingertip, then slips his hand into Fenris's hair and kisses him.

Eventually Fenris pulls away, looking suddenly a little shy as he pulls a horrendously wrapped package from his back pocket and hands it to Garrett.

"It- it really isn't anything," Fenris says, his eyes on the floor as Garrett puts his thermos down and starts unwrapping the mess of newspaper and scotch tape encapsulating something that has a surprising weight, despite being quite small. "I just found it in one of those antique shops in Gastown, and I thought of you."

"Fen-" Garrett starts, ready to reassure him, when he finally gets the packaging off and Fenris's gift falls into his palm.

It's small - maybe just a bit bigger than a toonie, but not that much bigger - and very clearly old, though Garrett has no fucking clue _how_  old exactly it is. It's a worn, tarnished medallion on a thick chain, with an intricately designed dragon etched on the front. On the back is a weird symbol - a couple of dashes forming an upside-down triangle, a few more dashes, and two squiggly bits on the bottom. Garrett guesses it's the artisan's signature. 

He looks up to see Fen watching him, now very red and clearly anxious. 

"Because you like dragons," he says, by way of explanation. "I, um- I just thought-"

"I love it," Garrett says.

Fenris's eyebrows jump. "Really? Oh- oh, well- good, then." He sags a little, clearly relieved, only to let out a muffled squeak as Garrett kisses him again, gripping the medallion tightly in his hand.

He steps back and slips the chain over his head, the medallion coming to rest an inch or two below the hollow of his throat. Fenris eases himself up onto the desk, still red-faced but for very different reasons, now.

"I mean, there could be more to your birthday gift, if you wanted," Fenris murmurs lowly, hooking his thumbs into the loops of Garrett's jeans and pulling him close. "Empty classroom, and all."

"What did you have in mind?" Garrett asks, planting his palms on either side of Fenris's slim hips, brushing a teasing kiss against the corner of Fenris's mouth.

" _Your_ birthday," Fenris reminds him, his voice taking on a bit of a breathy edge as Garrett dips his head down to mouth at his neck, tilting his head back to give him more room. "I'm curious to know what you think."

"What I think?" Garrett presses forward, grinning as Fenris arches against him, wrapping his legs around Garrett's thighs. He brushes his lips against Fenris's ear, and whispers, "I think there's another class coming in at 5:30, and students are gonna start barging in here any second."

"Oh fuck _._ " Fenris slumps back a little, looking momentarily stumped. Then he glances up. "The car?"

"Faculty parking lot. There could be witnesses."

"Don't care."

"Alright, then. Race you?"

"I don't know where it is- Hawke, _no!_ "

Garrett sprints out of the classroom, laughing, and manages to make it out of the building and across one of the grassy fields before he's promptly tackled by a short irate barista that he's absolutely, stupidly in love with.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NOTES (I spent five minutes sitting here trying to think of Christmas puns but... nothing came to me)
> 
> \- If you don't know what the Thomas the Tank Engine/In Da Club mashup is, it's this (the original wasn't playing for some reason but this is the exact same thing): https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1nmwSTPIeXk
> 
> \- Having American friends is wild. Y'all are like "man it's like 100 degrees out" and I'm like "I mean I get that it's fahrenheit at all but that sounds a little extreme" but also thirty degrees celsius is stupid hot but thirty degrees fahrenheit is freezing?? what do you do at 0 degrees fahrenheit?? what does that look like?? 
> 
> \- FOR THOSE OF YOU WONDERING ABOUT SEBASTIAN AND FENRIS'S BACKSTORY - chapter one of the first HSG spin-off is up, officially turning this into a series (eyyy!). "Winter Song" is entirely about Seb and Fen meeting and becoming friends, and the second chapter should be up soon. You can find it on my page or by following the "Kirkwall - Vancouver, BC" link on this story. I'm totally open to suggestions and prompts for stories about the characters set in the HSG universe, so if there's something you'd like to see, let me know!
> 
> There's gonna be a few more chapters of fluff and such (including part two of this chapter because birthday party yo), so store up on that as much as you can :) 
> 
> MERRY CHRISTMAS and as always I'm so grateful for everyone's support on this fic, it's so enjoyable to write and it really means a lot to me that people are enjoying reading it <333
> 
> P.S. I'm so sad I swerved on the desk sex but I could easily be convinced to write a one-off because... *desk sex*


	25. T-Tanke-E In Da Club

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Every song I mention in this chapter exists, and I'll link all of them in the notes at the end. 
> 
> Also, I want to give a MAJOR MEGA HUGE SHOUT-OUT to AO3 User and phenomenally sweet and wonderful human CalicoJane413 who MADE A PLAYLIST FOR THIS FIC FOR MY BIRTHDAY HOLY CRAP. Please do yourselves a favour and check it out because it's fucking amazing and helped me break into this chapter after my little hiatus: 8tracks.com/calicojane413/karaoke-night-at-the-hanged-man-kirkwall-vancouver-bc
> 
> Also also, hello to all the new readers!! Thank you so much for commenting and supporting this fic and so sorry for the long absence, I love all of you, and I really hope you enjoy this dumb fluffy chapter before things start going to shit <3

 It's gender-bend music night at the Hanged Man, apparently.

Garrett realizes this after the third all-male cover of a Madonna song plays over the pub sound system, causing him to wonder how many gender-bent covers of popular songs could possibly exist, all in all. 

An hour later, he realizes the answer is an approximate fuckton. And a disproportionate number of them are covers of Lady Gaga.

"This is hurting my soul," Anders comments, squinting up at the electrician's nightmare that is the pair of rigged-up speakers affixed to the wooden beams overhead as a crooning and heartfelt acoustic version of " _Alejandro_ " plays throughout the pub. "Not in a bad way, though. But there's definite pain."

"I think I know what you mean," murmurs Don thoughtfully, looking up with a squinting kind of consideration as Aveline cuts him a worried glance and moves his half-drunk beer slightly further out of his reach. 

Marian smirks at this, but doesn't say anything. She's been quiet all night. 

A little _too_  quiet, if Garrett were to be perfectly honest with himself (and whatever psychics in the pub who happen to be listening in on his thoughts, because he always tries to account for those, just in case) - at any rate, it worries Garrett a bit. He would chalk it up to exhaustion, but Marian tends to talk more when she's tired, not less. Usually about how much she hates a good portion of humanity but really loves her dog, or how she still doesn't understand why people put pineapple on pizza when it's clearly a sin against all gods and sundry. 

Which; there's a thought.

"What are your thoughts regarding pineapple on pizza?" Garrett asks, turning to Fenris. 

He shrugs. "I'm not a fan of pineapple. If people choose to put it on pizza, well, it's their prerogative to ruin their dinner however they want."

"Oh, you  _would_  be a pineapple racist," Anders says, rolling his eyes. 

"I seem to have offended the one and only advocate for the advancement of disenfranchised pineapples," Fenris says, sipping his wine. 

"I just don't understand the blind hatred towards a perfectly valid addition to a food that you're supposed to add whatever you like to anyway," Anders says. "No one gets this worked up about olives. Or green peppers. Or sardines."

"Actually, I think people _do_ take issue with sardines on pizza," Garrett says. "When was the last time you ever saw a sardine pizza on a takeout menu?"

"I take it you're a fan of pineapples?" Fenris says to Anders. 

Anders crosses his arms. "As it happens, I am. I happen to think pineapples are delicious."

"You eat them a lot?"

"I guess so, yeah." Anders narrows his eyes. "Why?"

"No reason," Fenris says, taking a long sip of wine before adding, "That doctor friend of yours must be very happy about your pineapple fixation."

Garrett snorts into his beer, Isabela cackles, and even Aveline has to cover a smile with her hand. Anders turns an extraordinary shade of pink and gapes for a little bit, before sitting back to drink his IPA in sullen silence.

Garrett, still laughing a little, leans over to kiss Fenris's cheek. "You're still wrong about beets, but I'm glad we see eye-to-eye on pineapple discourse."

"Beets are delicious."

"Beets are a mistake."

"Alright, alright," Isabela calls over the dulcet tones of Bonnie Tyler screaming her way through the first few lines of "Have You Ever Seen the Rain?" "We've had drinks, everyone's here-"

"Carver's not here," Bethany says. "Or Merrill."

"-fine, alright, but most of us are here and I'm impatient," Isabela says. "Let's do presents, yeah?"

Marian perks up at this a little, predictably, while Don turns to Aveline with a bemused frown. "I always seem to come on someone's birthday. Should I have brought something?"

"You bring with you unintentional entertainment," Varric says smoothly, reaching over to pat Don's shoulder. "It's all good, my friend."

"Alright, well, here's my shit," Anders says, pulling two decently-sized gift bags out from under the table, handing one to each twin. "I had some promises to fulfill."

"Oh, right on," Marian says, grinning as she pulls a large plastic package from the bag containing what looks like a Harry Potter costume... for dogs. "Where the fuck did you find one big enough for Kitty?"

"Had to go full Deep-Web for that," Anders says gravely. "Scrolled past hitmen and drug dealers on the black market to find it. But there's another one."

Marian pulls out the other one, and laughs. 

"Is that a cat costume?" Fenris asks, frowning. 

"A cat costume for dogs!" Bethany giggles, delighted. "Oh, we're going to have to take a million pictures."

"This is absolutely going to solidify her interspecies identity crisis," Marian says, sounding utterly pleased. "Thanks, Andy."

Garrett moves to open his gift, only for Anders to reach across the table (well, across Fenris specifically, forcing him to have to shrink back against his seat to avoid getting Anders' elbow in his face) to stop him. "Best for last."

Garrett shrugs, and puts the present aside.

From Varric both twins receive their annual Moleskine journals with their names embossed across the front in gold, as well as the Varric's latest novel signed and in hardcover ("The signature makes it worth more," says Varric). Aveline goes the gift card route, for Starbucks and fancy restaurants, with heartfelt personalized birthday cards for each of them. Bethany gifts a multitool to Marian, and a fancy shirt and tie set to Garrett ("So you have something to wear outside the house that won't embarrass the people you're with, brother.")

Marian opens her gift from Isabela - a suspiciously plain purple box - snorts, and does not show the contents to anyone at the table, for which Garrett is immensely grateful. 

His gift from Bela also comes in a suspiciously plain purple box, and he is utterly unsurprised to find what looks like a very pricy butt plug inside that supposedly vibrates, as well as two cock rings.

"A matching set," Bela says, winking at Fenris, who peers over Garrett's shoulder to look inside the box. Garrett expects Fenris to laugh, or flush, or maybe even recoil a little.

Instead, Fenris looks at the box, then up at Garrett, and shrugs. And smirks.

Garrett isn't entirely sure what he did in his life to deserve Fenris Awan, but by God, is he ever grateful he did it. 

He's so distracted by his perfect and hot and definitely slightly evil boyfriend that he almost forgets Anders' present, until Marian kicks him under the table. "Oi, put the toys away and get that last gift open, yeah?"

"Toys-?" Don asks, frowning, then seems to have an epiphany halfway through the word and chokes off into an odd cough.

"Right," Garrett says, putting the box aside and fetching up Anders' gift. "Should I expect more animal costumes?"

"You're more right than you are wrong," Anders says cryptically, "but you're still wrong."

Garrett blinks at him, then pulls the tissue paper out of the bag, followed by another plastic package similar to the dog costumes, but larger.

Much larger.

He turns it over, sees the cover label, and promptly loses his shit.

"Oh, my _God_ ," says Marian, eyes widening as she snatches the package away from a borderline hysterical Garrett. "Did you _actually-?_ "

"I was going to go with an actual Shrek onesie, as promised," says Anders, looking utterly pleased with himself. "But then I thought, you know, there is a _dragon_  in that movie, and Garrett's kind of got a dragon fetish-"

"It's not a _fetish_ , you horrible man," Garrett protests, still laughing. "Jesus Christ."

Bethany suddenly bursts into uncontrollable giggles across the table, covering her face with her hand as everyone turns to look at her. 

"No, I just- I had the most horrible thought, I'm sorry," she says, eyes dancing. "I just- well, you know who the dragon winds up with in that movie-"

"Oh my God," says Marian, eyes wide as she turns to look at Fenris, who's utterly nonplussed. " _The donkey._ "

Garrett's pretty sure if Christmas, New Year's, his birthday, and a day where free cats are given out to nurses were all rolled up into a single moment, Anders would still not reflect the level of utter glee and delight that lights up his face now as the implications sink in. He turns to Fenris, and only manages to get out the word " _ass_ " before collapsing into wild gales of laughter.

" _You_  are no longer my favourite," Fenris says, pointing an accusing finger at Bethany, who tries to pout before she's taken over by giggles once again. To Garrett he says, " _You_  are never getting laid while wearing that thing."

"But we could do a couples costume-"

" _Absolutely fucking not._ "

-

Merrill and Carver arrive sometime after eight, both looking owl-eyed and utterly exhausted as Carver wishes the twins a surprisingly sincere "Happy Birthday" and tells them they'll be getting their gifts from him sometime over the weekend before collapsing at the table and almost immediately falling asleep. Marian is tempted to draw a little moustache on his face in eyeliner, but manages to resist as Merrill shyly hands her and Garrett two small, lethal-looking cactus plants in glass jars.

"I thought they might brighten up your office spaces," she says, patting Carver absently on the head as he snores into her shoulder. "They're very easy to take care of."

"Merrill, you might just be the sweetest person ever to exist," Garrett says, sounding a little choked up. He's on his third beer by now, which is usually when he starts to get emotional (beer number four usually hails the onset of public singing and/or dancing). "I truly mean it. Wales makes nice people. I extend a toast to all the Welsh! How do you say 'cheers' in Welsh, anyway?"

" _Iechyd da_ ," Merrill laughs. 

" _Yekkid dah!_ " Hawke cheers, and drinks, as Fenris watches him with an understandable mix of amusement and affection.

"This is adorable, Merrill, thank you," Marian says, leaning over to kiss Merrill on the cheek and grinning as this causes Merrill to blush. "So, what, has Ritts been overworking Carver, then?"

"What? Ah, no, he's just a wee bit tired, I think," Merrill says, her voice very fond, and while Marian understands and even approves of Carver's reasoning for waiting until after the shoot is over to ask Merrill out, by God, they're already a better couple than most couples Marian knows personally. "Early morning, and then we had those four moves - honestly, I think I've seen most of the outer reaches of the city by this point. Lots of fresh air, but also lots of heat and moving plywood and worrying about bears and such."

"No bears yet?"

"No, not unless you count the actor playing that Grey Warden character," Merrill says, giggling. 

"Ah, Thom. Yeah, I see what you mean," Marian says. "And.. has Pheus stopped hassling Mahanon, now that he's TAD? He can't still be running around playing gofer for the man."

Merrill bites her lip, her face falling a little. "I mean, no, not really- I don't know. It's so strange, Corey acts so nice but... he really isn't, is he? It's sort of sad."

Marian tilts her head. "Does he talk to the PAs? He doesn't seem the type to buddy up with the 'underlings,' or whatever the fuck."

"Um, not really," Merrill says again, looking suddenly cornered. "I mean, he talks to Mahanon - but Mahanon's not a PA anymore, but he still talks to him, but it's always in sort of a... not very nice sort of way. And- and he sometimes talks to me."

Marian frowns. "About what?"

"Oh, I don't know - Wales, a lot. It's strange, ever since I've come to Canada I feel like I've become the poster girl for the country, if people actually pick up on the "Welsh" and don't assume I'm Scottish, or Irish, or- well, someone thought I was German, once, which was a bit odd. But yeah, Wales, and sometimes just this and that. He's always very nice to me, sometimes even sweet, but... well, it's not like I'm _blind_ , you know?" 

"He's not harassing you or anything?" Marian asks.

"Oh, no- I mean, not really?" Merrill sighs, and smiles, waving Marian off. "It really does run in the family, doesn't it? You, and Carver - you're both so protective of everyone. Like you're everybody's bodyguard. I promise you don't have to worry about me, Marian, I can take care of myself. Anyway, any time he spends talking to me is time he doesn't spend tormenting everyone else, so maybe that's my way of being a bodyguard for others, yeah? Oh, look- yam fries!"

Marian watches as Merrill gently pats Carver's cheek until he wakes up, enjoying the entertainment of seeing Carver's face when he realizes he's fallen asleep _on Merrill_ , and jumps up with a stammered apology as his cheeks turn bright red.

"Everything alright?" Bela murmurs into Marian's ear, as Merrill and Carver start in on their shared plate of yam fries, Merrill still giggling a little as Carver stuffs fries in his mouth to stem the flow of nervous babbling. 

"Trouble brewing, I think, but nothing I can really do anything about right now," Marian quietly responds. _And, fuck, speaking of trouble..._  "Hey, um, what are you up to Friday night? I was thinking we could- I don't know, maybe catch dinner or something."

_Catch dinner, talk about our futures, fess up to accepting a job in the UK without any prior discussion because I'm a fucking wuss._

"Well, I imagine I'll be deep-conditioning my hair to save it from the horrendous humidity of Canada's capital," Bela drawls. At Marian's blank look, Bela raises an eyebrow and says, "I'm leaving for Ottawa tomorrow, darling, I've got a job."

"Oh shit. Did I know that?"

"I believe I remember telling you, yes."

"Oh shit." Marian groans and puts her face in her hands, because this is only one of many, _many_  reasons why she's officially the worst girlfriend on the fucking planet. "Um, how long? Sorry."

"Marian, you've been busy. I forget half the shit you tell me on any given day anyway." Bela elbows her a little, smiling, and says, "A week from Saturday. Just in time for Pride, of course."

"Of course," Marian grins. Tearing shit up at Pride is another family tradition of theirs. "I'll miss you."

"Oh, pish, it's only for a week or so," Bela says. "Don't get all clingy on me now."

_Oh God._

"Never," Marian says, and kisses her.

Bela kisses back with her usual gusto, as well as her usual disregard for the public comfort of others, and grins when they eventually break the kiss. "So was there any reason you wanted to take me out for dinner on Friday, then? Anything pressing I should know about before I go?"

And Marian should say yes. She should absolutely say fucking yes, and then when they get home, say everything else that needs to be said. _Right now._

But... Bela's leaving for over a week. She can't drop that before Bella leaves. That wouldn't be fair, would it?

_What if I tell her and she doesn't  want to come back?_

"Nah, just heard about an underground bar that sounded like fun," Marian says, wanting to punch herself square in the face even as she says it. "It's one of those things you have to know about to find; dress code, hidden door, that sort of thing. Oh, and absinthe."

" _Absinthe?_  Alright, we're going there the moment I get back," Bela says. "And _you're_  buying, Miss Movies." 

Marian smiles, her heart stinging. "Yeah, Bel, I'll buy for sure."

-

Garrett's quite pleasantly tipsy, and Fenris is quite pleasantly warm and close, and Garrett can't stop fondling the medallion hanging from his neck, feeling the raised whorls of the dragon against his thumb as he nods a thanks to the bartender for bringing him another beer. "Thanks for DD'ing tonight, Andy."

Anders, who lost the three-way "Rock, Paper, Scissors" game between himself, Bethany, and Bela about an hour ago, flips him off and morosely sips at his ginger ale. 

"I'm sorry I couldn't offer to drive-" Fenris starts quietly, and Garrett waves him off. 

"It's fine, babe. Totally good. You know, I had a dream a few nights ago about you riding a motorcycle."

Fenris blinks, and raises an eyebrow. "Did you really?"

"You had the leather jacket and everything."

"I see."

"It was really hot. I mean, wearing a leather jacket in July would also be like, _hot_  hot. But it was also just hot. But also-" Garrett frowns. "Please don't drive a motorcycle. They're really dangerous."

"I'll bear that in mind," Fenris says, quirking a little half-smile. "Are leather jackets off the table then, as well?"

"No, no- nonono," Garrett says, shaking his head. "No, no, leather jackets are _never_  off the table. Anything leather, really. I mean- I mean, um- nope, there's no saving that one."

He escapes to his beer as Fenris quietly laughs at him, and takes a quick peek around the table. 

Marian and Bela have their heads together, murmuring about something, and it's a good sign; at least Marian's not being acting quite so quiet and withdrawn anymore, though there's still a weird tightness around her eyes that Garrett recognizes as stress. _Could be the job, could be something else. But she'd tell me if it were something else. So it's probably just the job._

Carver and Merrill have moved on from yam fries to nachos and chicken wings, while Bethany devours a bowl of edamame and the three of them share a pitcher of cheap beer. Bethany seems to be talking about the latest soap opera-esque drama occurring at her restaurant, if Merrill's wide eyes and Carver's fake boredom to cover his genuine interest are any indication. Merrill's got a hand on Carver's shoulder as she listens, squeezing a little every time she gasps at some new twist in the story, and Garrett badly wants to lean over and smoosh her face against his brother's and call it a day, but the rapidly fading sober part of him insists it's a bad idea as its swan song, so he doesn't.

Varric, Aveline, Don, and Anders seem to be caught up in some kind of mildly heated political debate - strong opinions, but respectfully voiced, each taking a moment to listen to one another's ideas. It's a depressingly _adult_  conversation, even if they all seem to be getting a kick out of it, and he can see Fenris following along with the points with that fiercely intelligent analytical look on his face. _You're so damn smart, and you don't even know it._

He yelps as Bela swats him suddenly, turning to her with a pout. " _Ow?_ "

"We're gonna go dance," Isabela says, sliding out of her chair and hauling Marian up with her. "Time to check if your boyfriend can trip the light fantastic, or whatever."

"Can _what?_ "

"Don't be dense, come on, now."

Bela drags Marian off with her to the Hanged Man's modest dance floor - a small, cleared area in front of the stage where they occasionally host live bands and more often host karaoke nights. There's already a fair amount of dancers out on the floor, most of whom seem happy enough to bob awkwardly in rhythm to a cover of " _Midnight_ _City_."

Garrett turns to Fenris, who eyes him warily. "Wanna dance?"

"Right here? In public? In front of everyone?" 

"Kinky."

" _Hawke._ "

Garrett turns in his seat and takes Fenris's hand in his, summoning his best and most convincing puppy eyes. He's heard they can be devastating. "I bet you're a great dancer. Like, so fucking great."

"I'm really not," Fenris says flatly, but he seems to be struggling not to smile, so that has to be a good sign. 

"Fen, even if you were doing, like, the Funky Chicken or something, it would probably be the sexiest goddamn Funky Chicken the world has ever seen."

"Do _you_  do the 'Funky Chicken?'"

"Babe, look at how incredibly white I am, and ask me that again. It's like the only dance move we know, other than the like, awkward shimmy thing we do when we're trying to look cool."

"Incredible." Fenris bites his lip, then drops his head back with a sigh. " _Fine_. But we're sticking to the very darkest corner, preferably with a large group of people between us and this table."

Garrett pumps his fist with a loud " _Yes!_ " and jumps to his feet, pulling Fenris up with him, who just laughs and stumbles along behind him as Garrett drags him out onto the floor.

They do find a clear space on the other side of the crowd, and Garrett starts with his promised Funky Chicken (which, truth be told, is really more of a Drunky Chicken at this point, but it's worth it for how Fenris doubles over in laughter watching him.) Despite Garrett leading the way, Fenris seems reluctant to really dance himself, humouring Garrett with a self-conscious head bob that's honestly incredibly adorable.

" _Midnight City_ " fades out, and for a few seconds the dance floor is filled with the sound of a pinball machine, momentarily throwing everyone off. Still, when a synth eventually breaks in with the opening chords, the song is unmistakeable.

 _Huh. Who knew they made an all-male pop-punk cover of_ "Video Games?"

At any rate, Garrett knows the song, if not this cover, and Fenris is just watching him. Waiting, maybe.

Garrett holds out his hands. Fenris, looking at him like he's only just realized that Garrett might actually be insane but smiling anyway, takes them. 

_Swinging in the backyard  
Pull up in your fast car whistling my name_

_Open up a beer  
And you say get over here and play a video game_

Garrett starts swaying a little at first, coaxing Fenris to move with him by swinging his arms forward and back. Fenris is still looking at him a little incredulously, a lot like he might start laughing again, but lets himself be moved.

Despite his claims, Garrett does remember the minute amounts of dance various people have tried to teach him over the years. He lifts Fenris's hands and twists him into a gentle spin that ends with Garrett's arms around him, holding him from behind. Fenris is definitely laughing now, head falling back against Garrett's shoulder as he does, but he doesn't let go.

He turns his head to look up at Garrett, hands still holding Garrett's tightly, bright-eyed and smiling and so fucking beautiful, even in the dim light, it honestly takes Garrett's breath away.

_It's you, it's you, it's all for you  
Everything I do_

It's not a surprise, when Garrett's mouth finds Fenris's. It's not a surprise when Fenris kisses him back, leaning up against Garrett's chest, his lips still curved into a smile.

 _I tell you all the time_  
_Heaven is a place on Earth with you_  
 _Tell me all the things you want to do_  
 _I heard that you like the bad girls honey, is that true?_

Fenris breaks the kiss first, looking flushed and pleased as Garrett holds him close. But Garrett's not finished dancing just yet.

Garrett quickly brushes another kiss against his temple, then releases one of Fenris's hands to spin him out, then back in again into a low dip. Fenris squawks and grips Garrett's arms tightly for balance, bursting into laughter again. 

They manage to get a good rhythm going, turning it into a lapsed mix of swing-dancing with a little tango thrown in. Whatever it is, there's lots of unnecessary spins and dips and flourishes and it all probably looks utterly ridiculous, but they're both laughing, both having utterly stupid amounts of fun, until Fenris finally turns and pulls Garrett down for another kiss, and this time doesn't let go.

 _It's better than I ever even knew_  
_They say that the world was built for two_  
 _Only worth living if somebody is loving you_  
 _Baby now you do_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> FUCKING NOTES TIME!!
> 
> First of all, so sorry for the long-ass hiatus!! Christmas happened, then New Years, then I was in New Brunswick for a conference and my birthday and wound up accidentally suplexing a pretty girl on a karaoke stage while trying to dance with her and still wound up making out with her anyway, then school started up and my job started up and I've just accepted another contract to return to Small Town Hell(TM) but this time they won't make me do a fucking cancan and I'm actually kind of excited to go back?? What has happened to my poor city slicker self.
> 
> And speaking of the city, Vancouver has been fucking buried under snow again. Yeah, laugh it up if you're a Northerner, I get it, y'all get like 20 metres of snow a year and have antifreeze in your veins but VANCOUVER IS NOT BUILT FOR THIS. The first storm rolled in on Monday and it's been destroying our roads with random potholes and everything shut down today because of the newest storm cell rolling through (which means our midterm got pushed back so eyy, thanks snow). 
> 
> I'm going to be going back through some of these chapters and doing some editing by the way (nothing that affects story, mostly grammar and continuity shit because I suck), and I heard that that messes with the notification system sometimes? So I apologize if AO3 starts sending people e-mails because I have to change a "there" to a "their" (or because I switched someone's nationality by accident referencing an older draft that I hadn't edited ha ha ha did I mention I suck). 
> 
> Also, like I said, not to be That Guy but yeah uh shit's gonna get pretty real soon, because apparently FoxNonny can't fucking write a lighthearted romcom to save their life. Apologies in advance.
> 
> BELOW are links to the songs mentioned in this chapter, and I'd ESPECIALLY recommend the Bonnie Tyler music video for laughs, and the Young Professionals "Video Games" for feelings because mY GOD that was another song that got me writing again, just so I could write this scene.
> 
> As always, I love every last one of you to bits, and please imagine the biggest most obnoxious crushing hug from me to everyone who leaves kudos, comments, and bookmarks. You are all fucking amazing, and you make my goddamn life. 
> 
> ALL TIME LOW (yes, really): ALEJANDRO  
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rzOQJh_TsvY
> 
> BONNY TYLER: HAVE YOU EVER SEEN THE RAIN  
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=sH8oSVs_spg
> 
> THE KNOCKS FT. MANDY LEE: MIDNIGHT CITY  
> https://youtu.be/vi1mri-uoDc
> 
> THE YOUNG PROFESSIONALS: VIDEO GAMES  
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=sexPTYJ4fbo


	26. The Gay Lumberjack Agenda

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No, this isn't the chapter where everything falls to shit yet.
> 
> Yet.

**From: Fen <3**

That's not as convincing an argument as you seem to think it is, Hawke.

 

**To: Fen <3**

what??? about????? free??????? condoms???????? isn't????????? convincing???????????

 

**From: Fen <3**

Right now, the painful abundance of question marks. 

 

**From: Fen <3**

It hurts my eyes.

 

**To: Fen <3**

ok fine free condoms and stickers and candy and flags and tattoos aside, pride is just really fun?? I promise it's fun. and the prime minister is probably gonna be there! it's great he high fived me last year. I didn't even wind up voting for him but I still feel good about that high five. 

 

**From: Fen <3**

Ah yes the leader of the country I'm illegally squatting in wants to give me a high five. 

 

**To: Fen <3**

babe I'm sure if the man met you he'd be like "oh whoa" and give you not just permanent residence but probably make you king of canada

 

**From: Fen <3**

There is no king of Canada.

 

**To: Fen <3**

you've never heard of king timothy?

 

**From: Fen <3**

No.

 

**To: Fen <3**

King Timothy III of House Horton. but he liked to keep things informal so we all just called him timmy. had a thing for coffee and doughnuts.

 

**From: Fen <3**

You're an idiot. 

 

**To: Fen <3**

and you're the once and future king of canada. just imagine - justin trudeau lifting you above the crowd like simba. "canada is really big" playing in the background.

 

**From: <3**

That's not a real song, and are you high right now?

 

**To: Fen <3**

it IS a real song, and I AM a little high right now

 

**To: Fen <3**

anders had some basil

 

**To: Fen <3**

I mean not basil that's a euphemism and not the point the point is you should come to pride because it will be fun and I swear I won't put any glitter on you at all. 

 

**From: Fen <3**

If glitter comes anywhere near me you will die a slow and painful death Garrett Hawke. 

 

**To: Fen <3**

can I wear glitter tho 

 

**From: Fen <3**

It's up to you but I repeat if it comes anywhere near me: slow and painful death.

 

**To: Fen <3**

so.... if I come anywhere near you....... wearing glitter...........

 

**From: Fen <3**

Slow and painful death. 

 

**To: Fen <3**

:( but I like coming near you

 

**From: Fen <3**

...

 

**To: Fen <3**

I mean being near you?

 

**From: Fen <3**

So you don't like coming near me? Because I was given a very different impression last time I was over.

 

**To: Fen <3**

[Attachment: **AirhornNoise.mp3** ]

 

**From: Fen <3**

You sent that a little too quickly.

 

**To: Fen <3**

i'm like a boy scout fen. always prepared.

 

**To: Fen <3**

and I promise no glitter herpes will occur (from me at any rate bela reallllllllllly likes pride)

 

**From: Fen <3**

...Fine. On one condition. 

 

**To: Fen <3**

:DDDDDDDD ??

 

**From: Fen <3**

You once mentioned something about candles and massage oils and "proper equipment" and such. 

 

**From: Fen <3**

When we get back from Pride?

 

**To: Fen <3**

DONE.

 

-

 

**To: The Bae**

Bad news: I'm getting pulled in for an emergency meeting on Sunday. 

 

**From: The Bae**

>:( are your bosses *aware* that I've been away for a week and a half and that I'm very much looking forward to attending many pride-related activities with a strapping ladyhawke on my arm? did you make that clear to them?

 

**To: The Bae**

Apparently the New York office waits for no man, or woman, or gender non-conforming individual. 

 

**To: The Bae**

Remember these are the people who decided to be in New York, even if the writers are in LA and the actual fucking studio is here. 

 

**From: The Bae**

ah, the classic clash of east coast vs west. tale as old as time. well, fine, alright then. I'm coming in very late saturday night, I'll try not to wake you up when I get in. 

 

**To: The Bae**

<3 I'll make it up to you in an unspecified way at some point in both our lifetimes.

 

**From: The Bae**

promises promises

 

-

 

**From: BigBootyBitch**

so I won't be getting in until about 3 am which means we can't have our usual practice run of the glitter beard tonight!! what are you planning for this year? full rainbow? pink? green like the colour of your paramour's eyes?

 

**To: BigBootyBitch**

alas I am retiring the glitter beard this year

 

**From: BigBootyBitch**

NO

 

**To: BigBootyBitch**

I am of course fast approaching my thirtieth decade upon this planet and thus must put my mind towards more practical pursuits 

 

**From: BigBootyBitch**

real reason now

 

**To: BigBootyBitch**

...fenris doesn't want to get costume herpes on him which is fair and understandable

 

**To: BigBootyBitch**

hello?

 

**To: BigBootyBitch**

are we not speaking anymore has the lack of glitter beard destroyed our friendship forever

 

**From: BigBootyBitch**

sorry darling, I was caught up in another conversation. you're right, that is entirely fair and reasonable. I am of course heartbroken to see the glitter beard go, but I suppose it was bound to happen some time.

 

**To: BigBootyBitch**

maybe we can convince him for next year?

 

**From: BigBootyBitch**

we can only hope <3

 

-

Garrett should really see the bucket of glitter coming. But he doesn't.

He goes to bed the night before Pride with Fenris bundled up in his arms, already fast asleep, and his mind drifts (as it does every night Fenris stays over, these days) to the ring box hiding in one of his desk drawers. He wonders how Fenris would react, if he were to give it to him. He wonders if it would make Fenris feel as secure and as loved as Garrett wants him to feel, or if it would cause him to run. 

He wonders if it isn't too soon to be thinking about all this. He keeps reminding himself, _months_ , they've only been dating for a few months, and yet... he can't help but feel as though there are some things you just know, when you know them. Like who you'd be happy spending the rest of your life with. 

It's something he wonders if Fenris knows something similar, one way or the other, but he's far too happy and far too afraid of breaking something fragile to ask. 

So he falls asleep wondering all these things, and he wakes up to the sound of " _It's Raining Men_ " blasted into his ear through iPod speakers, and a bucket of holographic pink glitter dumped on his head. 

Fenris clearly rolls an internal natural twenty for reflexes, and manages to scramble out of the way with only a small amount of glitter sprinkling over his left shoulder. Garrett, far less fortunate, sits up with a startled yell, and is promptly blinded by a cascade of pink rainbows falling from his hair over his face and chest. 

"There is _no_  escaping the Pride glitter beard, sweetheart," Isabela says sweetly, and though Garrett can't see shit right now, he can hear Bethany giggling in the doorway. "Good morning! We leave for downtown in an hour."

"God fucking _damn it,_ Bela," Garrett hollers, over the rising volume of the Weather Girls (" _God bless Mother Nature! She's a single woman too-_ "). He promptly winds up with a mouthful of glitter.

Despite the music and despite his own spluttering, somehow he manages to hear the faint sound of someone trying very hard to stifle laughter right next to him.

"I thought you didn't like glitter," Garrett scowls in Fenris's general direction, still brushing glitter bits out of his eyelashes and eyebrows. 

"I don't," Fenris snickers, "but you look absolutely ridiculous- Hawke, _no-!_ "

Fenris does not manage to escape this time, as Garrett lunges over and tackles him into a glittery bear hug, rolling them both around the mattress until they're both utterly covered in the sparkly bullshit. 

"You absolute fucking _asshole_ ," Fenris protests, shoving Garrett's shoulder and trying to bat the glitter off his own face, only succeeding in transferring more onto his cheeks from the palm of his hand. Garrett, now slightly less blinded, can't help but notice the smile still twitching in the corner of Fenris's mouth. 

"Mutually assured destruction," Garrett says, kissing Fenris's nose and grinning as Fenris wrinkles it back at him in response. "The sight of you covered in glitter is absolutely worth the slow and painful death that's sure to follow."

"It's _definitely_  going to follow," Fenris mutters, clearly trying to work up a scowl and not quite getting there. "You were warned, Hawke."

"In my defence, this glitter bomb was not organized by me," Garrett says, "but even so I accept my fate. There is a perk, though."

"Hmm?"

"We're both covered in glitter, something neither of us will be able to clean off without help, and I was thinking if we shower _together_ -" 

"No _._ " 

Garrett pouts a little, burying his face in Fenris's shoulder. "You didn't even let me finish."

"There's a joke in there somewhere," Bela calls from somewhere in the hallway.

"No, see, _I_  am going to go shower," Fenris says, disentangling himself from Hawke and brushing more glitter off himself with a little shudder. " _You_  are going to change these sheets. I believe we have plans for tonight, after all?"

Garrett flops over onto his back, further coating himself in glitter. "We do. They're good plans."

"Mhm," Fenris says, picking up one of Garrett's shirts from over the back of his desk chair and slipping it on over his shoulders. "I'll be out in ten minutes."

Garrett watches him leave, wearing Garrett's shirt, a stolen pair of Garrett's boxers, and still covered in glitter. _Fuck, I love Pride._

-

On a normal day, Vancouver is one of the gayest cities imaginable. 

The gayness of Vancouver isn't found in the clubs and bars, though there are a few worthy of mention: the Odyssey and the Fountainhead are well-known spots, as is Celebrities, though the crowd consists largely of straight tourists these days. Numbers is where you go for cruising, Score is where you go for the LGBTQ sports community, and PumpJack is described on the GayVancouver.Net "Nightlife" page as "a great place to meet friends in a casual pub atmosphere alongside the friendly leather men and bears that frequent it all week long."

No, the gayness of Vancouver is in the little details. It's in the rainbow flag stickers placed in shop windows promising safety to all who enter. It's in the people who frequent the streets: Businessmen holding hands and walking dogs through Yaletown, nonbinary people with rainbow hair kissing heavily pierced girlfriends on street corners, groups of young queer people meeting in pubs and coffeeshops and talking freely about their lives without fear. No one bats an eye at these occurrences, and if they do, they are in the minority. Free clinics devoted to sexual health and education are advertised on public transit, as are community groups dedicated to mental health care access open to "all genders," not "both."

The hub of Vancouver's queer activity is Davie Street, specifically Davie Village. You can find a rainbow crosswalk there, as well as the historic Little Sister's bookstore, which features gay literature and routinely had its products seized at the border in the 80s and 90s under Canada's now-altered "obscene materials" law. This area celebrates Vancouver's large and varied queer community all-year round; Pride, however, is something else entirely. It's something else entirely for the whole damn city.

The most hardened and determined of homophobes might be able to ignore Vancouver's queer underpinnings for most of the year, ignoring the Pride flags and the hand-holding and the messages of solidarity and fearlessness throughout the city. There is no ignoring it on Pride. 

-

The parade route is already packed by the time Garrett makes it downtown, a good portion of the Kirkwall Crew in tow. Bela, predictably, is covered head to foot in rainbows and glitter, which is impressive given that her only real clothes are a pair of short shorts and a backless, low-slung shirt that makes her lack of a bra incredibly evident.

The others are dressed a little less exuberantly. Bethany has an armband around her bicep reading "ALLY" from last Pride, and Anders has the quintessential " _Not gay as in happy, queer as in fuck you_ " slogan across his loose tank top. Anders also managed to get a hold of some face paint, and smeared matching bisexual Pride flags on his, Bela's, and Garrett's cheeks. Fenris declined the offer to have his face done, though despite a thorough showering, Garrett can still see flecks of glitter catching the sunlight in Fenris's hair and on his skin. 

They manage to find a spot with a decent view on Denman, a few blocks up from Davie Street. The day is warm and bright, the crowd around them bustling with excitement while people in shops and apartment buildings stare out at the commotion, a few windows open with large rainbow flags draping out over the window sill. In the distance, they can hear the blaring music and commotion of the approaching parade even over the loud chatter of the crowd. 

"Have your brother and Merrill figured out where we are yet?" Isabela says to Bethany, sipping lazily on a tall pink Starbucks frappuccino. Garrett has his own cinnamon latte in hand, hot despite the weather, after assuring Fenris several times over that his lattes are far superior. Fenris, downing a black ice coffee in seconds and tossing the cup in the recycling before even leaving the Starbucks in question, rolled his eyes at this, but there was a slight flush in his cheeks suggesting he wasn't entirely unaffected by Garrett's praise.

"They said they're here, they just can't see us," Bethany says, gnawing on her lip. "Andy?"

"Ah yes," Garrett says, turning to Anders with a grave expression. "Tell us, Anders, what do your elf eyes see?"

"Shut up, you're almost as tall as me," Anders says, scanning the crowd with a squint. "Anyway, if anyone here is an elf, it's Fenris."

Fenris's head jerks up. "How the fuck am I an elf?"

"You look like an elf."

"How the fuck do I _look_  like an elf?"

"Most elves are tall, willowy, and pale," says Bela. "Fen's only willowy."

"Not that willowy," says Garrett, thinking of Fenris's defined back muscles. And thighs. And that wonderful area right below his back and above his thighs. 

"That's because most people writing books with elves in it are racist, but trust me, he looks like an elf," says Anders with a shrug, suddenly straightening. "Oh, there they are- _Carver! Merrill!_ "

Garrett follows Anders' sightline to the closest corner. He just manages to glimpse the top of Carver's forehead, disappearing once or twice as he looks around the crowd.

"Fuck, I'll get them, they'll never find us otherwise," Garrett says, quickly kissing Fenris's cheek. "Don't kill Andy while I'm gone?"

"He thinks I'm an _elf._ "

"You know, now that I think about it, it kind of makes sense-" starts Bethany, only to cut out with a giggle as Fenris casts her an incredibly beleaguered look. 

Luckily being over six foot, built like an (admittedly soft) lumberjack, and covered in glitter has the crowd parting before Garrett, so it's only a few minutes of wading through rainbows, tassels, signs, and flags before Garrett emerges in front of Merrill and Carver, both looking adorably lost. 

"Oh, thank the _Lord_ ," says Merrill with feeling, lunging forward to give Garrett a tight hug. "We almost started going down the street instead of up- it's quite a crowd, isn't it?"

"Wait 'till the parade comes through," Garrett says, hugging her back. He pulls away to see her better. 

Merrill looks absolutely adorable, dressed in colours of black, grey, white, and purple. For a moment Garrett thinks of teasing her for the lack of rainbows in her outfit, when he sees what's embossed across her shirt. 

" _The 'A' stands for 'Ace.'_ "

His first thought is something along the lines of " _Where the fuck is everyone getting these shirts?_ "

His second thought is a little more useful, and causes him to glance over at Carver, searching his expression. Carver blinks at him.

"Something went wrong with your glitter beard," Carver drawls, gesturing to... well, all of Garrett, which is fair enough. He was even less successful than Fenris in getting the glitter off. 

"Ask Bela about that, and possibly your twin," Garrett says, ushering them forward through the crowd. "There's no way Bela managed to get a bucket of glitter without help."

Luckily for the sake of Garrett's curiosity, Bethany darts forward the moment they're within view, taking Merrill's hand and dragging her to the front. Garrett slows a little, holding a hand up for Carver to walk in step with him. 

"So Merrill's ace?" Garrett says, quietly as he can while still being heard over the crowd. Under the circumstances it's impossible to inflect the offhand geniality he wants to convey in the question, and he winces.

Predictably, Carver scowls at him. "And?"

"Nothing, I just-" Garrett tries for a shrug, which only causes Carver to scowl deeper. "I'm just wondering if you knew."

Instead of getting angrier, Carver's face does something strange - it falls a little. Almost resigned.

"I knew you'd be fucking weird about it," he mutters. The words stab a little, and Garrett has to bite back a sharp reply. 

"I'm not- I mean, I don't think I am?" Garrett says, pulling on as much patience as he can, trying to understand. "I'm honestly not surprised or anything, I'm just- I know you like her-"

"You can have a relationship without-"

"No, I know-"

"-and anyway, she's not."

Garrett blinks. "Eh?"

"I mean..." Carver rubs the back of his head, his face tight. "I don't know, maybe she is. She doesn't really care either way, is what she told me. But that stuff she's wearing- it's for me."

Garrett's mind stalls for a good five seconds. In those five seconds, he stares at all of Carver - from his Canucks tank top to his long black shorts, all classic jock physique, about as hetero male as Garrett's ever seen.

His eyes eventually fall on a black ring on Carver's thumb, and something in his brain clicks. 

"Oh," he says, incredibly stupidly. "I- when-? Um-"

"Sweet fuck in heaven, how is this more awkward than when you came out?" Carver mutters bitterly, staring at his feet. "Or Ri? Did she even come out, or did her girlfriends just start staying for breakfast more often?"

"I'm sorry, I'm being a fucking asshole, shit," Garrett says, because it's true, and because he can't seem to _stop._  "I just- you don't seem-"

"I'm going to punch you in the dick if you finish that sentence."

"Fair." Garrett swallows, and says, "Why... didn't I know?"

Carver folds his arms, looking Garrett square in the eyes, and for the first time it feels like, Garrett realizes his eyes are exactly the same as Marian's - in shape and colour, as well as a kind of weariness that Garrett just doesn't see in his own reflection.

"I guess I kind of thought you'd react like this," Carver says. "I don't know, you and I, we're just- we're just kind of different, and I'm okay with that. I guess I felt like- like this sort of made us less different and more different at the same time, and I didn't know which was worse. And you and Marian, you guys got to sort this kind of shit out on your own, without someone who'd already done it looking over your shoulder. This... it's not a big deal or anything, and if you throw me a fucking coming out party or buy me a cake I really _will_  punch you in the dick, but... it's about me. It's something I figured out on my own. It's not important, I don't think, but it's important to me because it's _mine_."

Garrett stares.

Then he steps forward and pulls Carver into a tight hug, and for once, Carver doesn't try to push him off. 

"I'm really sorry," Garrett says, hoping Carver understands _why_  without him having to list off the reasons. He will, if he has to, but he's not sure it will do either of them much good. 

"You fucking better be," Carver says, "because I'm pretty sure you just got glitter all over me, you _asshole_."

Garrett laughs, and a moment later, so does Carver.

-

The actual parade catches up to them moments after Carver and Garrett rejoin the others. Bethany, Bela, and Merrill are strategically placed up front - "We're the best bets to pull for loot," explains Bela with a grin - while Garrett, Anders, and Carver try not to be too obnoxiously tall behind them. Fenris doesn't share this problem, though he seems content enough to remain a slim shadow at Garrett's side, nearly hidden behind Bela's hair. 

Drag queens, queer youth groups, politicians, dancers, floats and unicycles and balloons and every flag imaginable, it all blurs into a fantastic spectacle as the parade marches past. Isabela pulls down the front of her shirt, revealing gold tassels over her breasts, and a few shimmies later Garrett's struggling to find room in his hefty pockets for all the condoms and packets of sample lube the girls pass back to him. Anders manages to catch a shirt flung in their direction, gifting it to a short girl next to him in her mid-teens, who dimples happily at him in response. 

As predicted, the prime minister does make an appearance, cameras flashing as he darts from one side of the street to the next, high-fiving as many people as he can with a dazzling grin. He shakes hands with an incredibly puzzled Merrill, who topples off the sidewalk when Bethany quietly explains to Merrill who he is moments after he leaves. 

"And you didn't vote for him?" Fenris murmurs, watching the prime minister go, one eyebrow raised. 

Garrett grins down at him. "You have a _crush._ "

Fenris elbows him hard, and Garrett laughs. 

His laughter abruptly cuts out, however, when he sees the procession a few floats behind the prime minister's.

A banner held by a few members of the procession at the front declares the group to be representatives from a church called "Saint Andrea's," but as there have already been a few religious groups in the parade, Garrett doesn't find this particularly shocking. 

What grabs his attention is the auburn-haired man smiling and waving at the crowd a few steps behind the banner, an armband of blue, purple, and pink wrapped around his bicep. 

Sebastian. 

In all the time they'd dated, Sebastian had never once gone to Pride with Garrett. He took a firm stance in the belief that "the gays don't need a parade," that it was all unnecessary showmanship, that if LGBTQ people ever wanted to be accepted by society they had to quiet down. They'd fought over it once or twice, but Garrett knew deep down that it came from a place of fear, with Seb. 

But here Sebastian is, not just at the parade but _in_  the parade, with the bi colours worn proudly on his sleeve, and there isn't a trace of fear anywhere in Sebastian's face. Only confidence, and-

Well, and _pride._

Their eyes meet, despite the crowd, and Garrett waves, unable to help the grin reaching towards his ears, his heart aching a little - sad and happy and full to bursting, all at once. 

Sebastian smiles back, and nods, eyes softening as they fall on Fenris. Fenris lifts his hand in a slight wave. 

Garrett tilts his head back, closing his eyes against the sun for a moment, music and cheers and laughter in his ears. He thinks about Carver and his black ring, Sebastian and his pride band, and all the little ways in which someone comes to find an identity in all the chaos of the world. 

He can't think of anything more human, and more blindingly beautiful, than that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let's play a fun game of, what is FoxNonny procrastinating while writing this chapter?!?  
> \- an article to write FOR MONEY  
> \- an assignment worth 25% of a final grade due ON FRIDAY  
> \- unpacking their entire life before leaving ON SATURDAY  
> \- something else that THEY FEEL LIKE THEY'RE FORGETTING AND WILL PROBABLY REMEMBER OH RIGHT FUCK I HAVE TO ANSWER THAT EMAIL ABOUT THE JUNE CONTRACT SHIT
> 
> BUT THIS CHAPTER HAPPENED INSTEAD.
> 
> Onwards to THE NOTES:
> 
> \- Everything I wrote about the gayness of Vancouver is true. It's not perfect, but it's there, and it's important to me. Also, re: Little Sisters bookstore, I know of an amazing ally who worked in publishing who helped smuggle queer manuscripts across the border during the "obscene materials" ban, and that kind of thing just like... it warms my big dumb queer heart, okay?  
> \- I didn't mention Trudeau by name because it just felt too damn weird to have him show up in a fic because that means if someone asks specifically I'd have to say "yes I wrote fic that has Trudeau in it" and while I'm sure such fic exists on ao3 (have you??? seen our prime minister??? I'm not happy with a lot of his current bullshit and no I didn't vote for him but he is pretty damn attractive and is a nice guy in person, and has attended the pride parades for years) I don't want to be the one writing it.   
> \- If you haven't read Winter Song (which ha ha I need to update at some point), St Andrea's is the church/shelter/soup kitchen etc that Sebastian works out of. Because St Andrea is an anagram of Andraste, and I'm REALLY VERY CLEVER.  
> \- Glitter is costume herpes. I was once in a show where I had to throw glitter in the air at the end of every one of our 21 performances. I kept finding glitter in my hair for months afterwards.
> 
> PERSONAL ANNOUNCEMENTS:  
> \- I still need to go back and edit a bunch of crap that's been bugging me so again if AO3 sends subscribers emails or whatever saying it's updated and it hasn't I'm very very sorry!!  
> \- I just moved and I never want to move again ever in my entire life I hate moving   
> \- To people sending me messages on Tumblr: so so sorry I haven't replied to messages in a while!! I'm about to go on a big ask and messaging answering spree as soon as I can, and believe me I appreciate every message and ask I get even if I'm occasionally the worst about replying   
> \- (No legit a possible date was texting me and I was about to answer when an IRL friend saw me reaching for my phone and was like "no leave it for a few hours you need to lower his expectations when it comes to your reply time" and you know what she was right)
> 
> AS ALWAYS THANK YOU ALL SO MUCH FOR YOUR LOVE AND SUPPORT! This story means a great deal to me and seeing that people enjoy it just gives me indescribable joy. I really really love you all <3


	27. The Gay Lumberjack Agenda 2: It Gets Gayer

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content warning on this chapter for referenced drug use!
> 
> Also, NSFW.

The parade spills out onto Sunset Beach, which has been turned into a sprawling fair with a live band playing somewhere, a congregation of food trucks, and lines of tents and stalls forming the city's most eclectic flea market. Shop and small business owners sell their wares with little thought to organization; a small jewelry stand is set next to a tent housing the contents of a local marijuana dispensary, official-looking pouches of product scattered amongst bongs and pipes with no cards checked by the cheery, clean-cut saleswoman, and no questions asked. Further on, there's a table full of hand-knit hats, scarves, mittens, and even baby clothes, which is fine and all, save for its questionable positioning beside a stall selling sturdy-looking leather cuffs, spreader bars, ball-gags, crops, leather blindfolds, and zipper-masks. 

It reminds Garrett a little of Diagon Alley. A very strange, very kinky Diagon Alley. One that he's lost every single one of his friends in since his quick trip to the washrooms and back. _Damn it._

A quick search later, he finds Fenris at a table selling knives, swords, throwing daggers, and katanas (pressed snug between a heavily-scented New Age tent, and a stall selling what looks like a hundred or more different types of jam).

"You're eyeing that big one a little too closely," Garrett says, slinging an arm around Fenris's waist. The sword in question is the pride of the table - enormous and lethal-looking, and if Garrett isn't mistaken, longer than Fenris is tall. "Plan on slaying any dragons with it?"

"Maybe," Fenris murmurs, a smile curling his lips and his eyes just a little too eager for Garrett's liking. "Just the idea of walking around with it... appeals to me."

"We call it the Blade of Mercy," the shopkeeper says, folding burly arms across a broad chest. "It's a hefty one, to be sure. Looking to buy?"

Fenris squints at the price card next to the hilt of the monstrous sword, and rears back a little. "No, not today, I don't think. It's a steep price for the sake of aesthetic."

"If it helps, with _your_ aesthetic, I'd be happy to cut you a deal," says the shopkeeper, tossing Fenris a flirty wink. "That is, if your sparkly boyfriend there is willing to share."

"He's not," Fenris says, as Garrett rubs a hand over his face to try to rid himself of any remaining glitter, succeeding only in spreading it around.

The shopkeeper shrugs with a well-natured grin. "Ah, well, can't have everything."

Just then, Garrett is bowled aside by a determined-looking Merrill, with Carver trailing behind her. "I've got the cash now, Lem. There was such a line-up at the ATM!" 

"Excellent, excellent." The shopkeeper - "Lem," Garrett guesses - pulls a fine black box out from under his table, handing it to Merrill and receiving a fist-full of slick bills in return, counting through them carefully. "That's a one-of-a-kind blade, by the way. Treat it well." 

"I will," Merrill says gravely, clutching the box close to her chest for a moment before slipping it into a canvas bag that seems freshly-purchased from another stall. She looks up, startling a little as if just seeing Garrett and Fenris. "Oh, hello! We were just wondering where you'd gotten to. Carver said you'd probably fallen into a toilet."

"Thanks, Carv," Garrett says, following Merrill and Carver as they start down the main thoroughfare, Fenris close at his side. "What exactly did you just buy?"

"It's- well, it's a dagger? Only not really, it's an athame." Merrill grins, a dreamy expression on her face. "It's called the Arulin'Holm, and it's _beautiful_. I've always wanted something like it."

"You've always wanted a dagger?" Garrett asks, a little weakly. 

"An _athame_ , it's different, and yes. I mean, I've got a proper wand and all, I need this to balance things out-" Merrill looks back at Garrett, suddenly uncertain. "Um, it's sort of a pagan thing? It must sound very weird to you." 

Garrett shakes his head. "No, no, if anything it makes a lot more sense than what I was thinking."

"Which was?"

"That you wanted to stab people with it."

Merrill laughs. "Only if they really annoy me." 

They find Anders next, perusing the contents of a tent that seems dedicated to the fine art of marrying leather with lingerie. There are studded black banana hammocks and bras with metal spikes across the cups, though it's the display of a corset on a male mannequin that seems to have attracted Anders' attention. 

"Shopping for yourself?" asks Fenris blandly. 

Anders, who clearly did not hear them coming up behind him, jumps a full foot to the left in response.

"I- you- it's none of your business," he stammers, shoving blond hair out of his face and clearing his throat. "Hello, Garrett- um, Merrill, Carver, fantastic, the whole gang's here. Should- should we find the others, maybe?"

Anders very quickly strides out of the tent, but not before slipping a business card off the table in a very poor attempt at sleight-of-hand, stuffing it into his jeans pocket. 

"You really like torturing him, don't you?" Garrett murmurs to Fenris as they follow Anders out of the tent at a slightly less spirited pace, Merrill and Carver laughing behind them. 

"Just being friendly," says Fenris innocently.

Garrett catches sight of Isabela and Bethany looking through drapey silk scarves on a rack several tents ahead. He raises his hand, about to call out to them, when he's distracted by an excited voice somewhere to his left. 

"No- no, I definitely _know_ them, Bull- _Carvill! Merry!_ "

Garrett turns just as Merrill is tackled into an enthusiastic hug by a slight figure who seems largely made up of bushy dark hair. Following close behind are two men - one massive, one very posh - who are delightfully familiar to Garrett. 

"Dorian," Garrett says, grinning as he nods to them in turn. "Bull."

"Hawke," Bull says, his single eye dancing as he glances down at Merrill and Carver; Carver, who is now being hugged with equal vigour. Garrett is still only seeing hair as he tries to parse out who the man hugging his brother is but he has a fairly good guess by this point. "And these are-?"

"Mervil and Carvy," says Mahanon, releasing a thoroughly shocked Carver and stepping back - well, stumbling back - with a broad smile. "Or wait- no, I'm getting it wrong. Anyway, they're my underlings! My young underlings. _Youngerlings._ "

Mahanon seems to find this bit of wordplay entirely hilarious, and loses himself to a fit of giggles as Carver and Merrill stare, utterly dumbfounded. Out of the corner of his eye, Garrett catches a glimpse of Fenris covering a smile with his hand.

Garrett fights a laugh, and says, "So he's-?"

"High as a fucking kite? Oh yeah," says Bull, reaching down to ruffle Mahanon's hair with an enormous hand (which only serves to worsen Mahanon's giggle fit). " _Someone_  didn't listen to my buddy Krem when he warned him how strong his stuff was."

"Right now his favourite things in the world seem to be glitter and anyone who smiles at him," drawls Dorian. 

"Oh come off it, I'm not that bad," protests Mahanon, blinking a little too much as he frowns at Dorian. "I don't get high anyway, I'm- I'm immune, and- _your hand is distracting._ "

"Again?" says Bull, as Dorian lifts his hand for Mahanon's inspection - several gold rings adorn long, elegant fingers, and Mahanon sets about examining each one with a look of intense concentration. "Anyway, we're keeping an eye on him. Making sure he doesn't wander off, doesn't get kidnapped by strangers-"

"That man was just being friendly, Bull," Mahanon says, eyes still fixed on Dorian's hand.

"Darling, he invited you to go with him to one of those portable toilets," Dorian says wearily.

Mahanon frowns. "I'll admit that was odd, but I thought he was just afraid to go alone- I mean, it wasn't for sex or anything-"

"It was definitely for sex," says Bull.

"But who'd want to have sex in a _toilet?_ "

Garrett and Fenris glance at one another, then very quickly look away. 

"Will he be okay to work tomorrow?" asks Carver, his face stuck in some kind of half-grimace of mingled amusement and concern. Merrill has her hands clamped over her mouth to stifle her own giggles at the situation. 

"Oh yeah, that stuff'll be out of his system pretty quick," says Bull, even as Mahanon leans over a little too far while investigating Dorian's hand and topples. Dorian quickly catches him and puts him right again. "Something tells me it's gonna be an early night for him anyway. This film shit or whatever, it's really wearing him out."

"More like someone in particular," mutters Carver. "I really don't know how you haven't decked that guy yet, man."

"What, Corey?" Mahanon says, and he groans. "That utter- whatever, he's a feckin'- _fucking,_  I mean, voice teacher'd smack more for dialect, whatever, he's a colossal turnip, but he can go fuck 'imself back in England. They can all go fuck themselves in England- well, not everyone actually, mostly everyone's nice. 'Specially your sister, Alaine's been over the moon since she confirmed."

Garrett feels an odd tingle up his spine, sort of an unpleasant apprehension, even as Carver says, "Marian? Confirmed what?"

"The thing with her going with the production and all," Mahanon says, frowning as he looks to Carver and Merrill, then Garrett. "Because the shoot- it's moving back to the UK? Probably a lot of Northern Ireland for locations and what, but studio's in London. Or Cardiff? Somewhere. Anyway, Marian told Alaine she'd go last week, and Alaine's been.." he trails off, biting his lip. "Shite, did she not-? She might've wanted to surprise you or something, and I've gone and- fuck, I'm sorry-"

"No, no- I'm glad you told me, dude," says Carver, his voice coming out a little strange. Garrett can feel Fenris staring at him, but can't bring himself to meet his gaze just yet. "Just- huh. I heard rumours it was moving back, but I didn't know-"

"I, um, kind of knew," Garrett finds himself saying, as casually as he can. _No big deal._ "I just didn't know she confirmed."

Mahanon brightens a little bit, and says, "Well, it was just recently that she did, so she might've not had the chance to break the news? She's so busy with things... maybe pretend you don't know when she tells you, or- I don't know, in my head it's sort of like a surprise party, with all the balloons and- but it might not be like that in real life..."

Mahanon trails off, staring at something over Garrett's shoulder, and sways slightly on his feet. 

"Ooookay," says Bull, stepping forward. "Someone's not making it to the afterparty. C'mere." 

Bull takes Mahanon by the hand and swings him up onto his back. Mahanon quickly loops his arms around Bull's shoulders and makes a hearty effort to wrap his legs around Bull's massive midriff as well, sort of giving him the appearance of a small, bushy-haired, adorable gay koala. 

"I really do hope you both take the opportunity to tease him about this tomorrow, yes?" Dorian says to Carver and Merrill. Merrill nods, still looking ready to burst into laughter at any moment. Carver nods as well, but his mind is clearly elsewhere. 

"Y'all are welcome to join us for the afternoon," Bull says, as Mahanon buries his face in Bull's extraordinarily thick neck. "Our buddies are camped out on the beach right now, they've probably managed to set something on fire by this point and that's always a party."

Carver glances at Merrill, who smiles and shrugs, then says, "Yeah, we might drop by for a bit. I'll grab Beth, see if Bela wants to come. Garrett?"

Garrett's still a bit thrown by Mahanon's accidental revelation; and besides that, he's pretty sure Fenris is nearing the end of his rope for social interaction. He still looks to be in a good mood, but there's a telltale tightening around his eyes that Garrett recognizes.

"I think Fen and I are heading home, but thanks," he says, and Fenris relaxes a little at his side. "Andy, what- where did he go?"

The four of them glance around; Andy is nowhere to be seen. 

Neither, Garrett notices, is Isabela. Bethany seems to be paying up at the scarf stand, but she's alone, now. 

"Maybe he's been invited to one of the toilets," Carver says dryly. 

"I'll text him," Garrett says, frowning. "I swear, next time we go anywhere in a group, I'm putting leashes on all of you."

"Interesting," says Dorian.

"Oh, they had leashes at that one place," says Mahanon, nudging Bull with his foot and nearly losing a shoe in the process (both sneakers' laces are untied). "Where we got the-"

Bull gently clasps his hand over Mahanon's mouth. "Not in front of the kids, Boss."

Fenris snorts, and Carver turns a fascinating shade of vermillion. Mahanon pulls back from Bull's hand and gives him a little kiss on the side of his shaved head before tucking his face down again. 

"We should really get some food into him," Dorian mutters, shaking his head. "Alright, well, follow the sound of mayhem and you'll be sure to find us."

"You say that like you're not a fan of a little mayhem," Bull says, grinning. "It'll be fun. Right, Boss?"

"Hee hee," says Mahanon gently into Bull's shoulder. 

Bull salutes them all, slings an arm around Dorian's waist, and sets off towards the beach, Mahanon looking as though he's starting to fall asleep on Bull's back. 

Carver turns to Garrett the moment they're out of earshot, his eyes narrowed. "Marian's _leaving?_ "

"I guess?" Garrett runs his hand through his hair, frowning. "Like I said, I didn't know she confirmed-"

"But you knew she was thinking about it."

"I'm her _twin_ ," Garrett says. "There's stuff you and Bethany talk about that you don't tell us, yeah? Can we not make this a thing?"

"It's kind of a thing."

"What's a thing?"

And there's Bethany, stuffing a handmade receipt into her bag as she walks up to join them, looking from Carver to Garrett and back again. 

Carver frowns at Garrett, and Garrett knows the look - it's very much a " _we're not done talking about this you incompetent kumquat_ " kind of expression. He resists the urge to snicker; Carver's been using that face since he was two. 

"I'll tell you later," Carver says finally, turning to his twin. "We just ran into Mahanon-"

"I saw that," Bethany says. "Was that Bull and Dorian, then? Bit of a motley crew."

"Mahanon's a little out of sorts," Merrill says. "But we might go see them for a bit before dinner."

"Where did Bela wind up?" Garrett asks. "We've lost Andy-"

"Lucky us," says Fenris.

"-and I'd like to know if someone's systematically picking us off or something."

Bela frowns. "Bela said she got a call from a client and had to go. I thought she told you? It seemed like she was headed your way."

"Leashes, I swear to God," Garrett mutters. "Alright, well, you guys have fun and let me know if Andy shows up. Oh, and um, if you're gonna smoke, maybe don't get your shit from Bull's buddy Krem."

Carver raises his eyebrows. "Gare, if the last ten minutes have taught us anything, it's that we should all be _exclusively_  buying off Bull's buddy Krem."

"Exactly what an older brother wants to hear," Garrett sighs.

-

It's around 4 o'clock when Fenris and Garrett arrive home, the sun taking on a lovely afternoon glow that lights up the ramshackle Kirkwall house in vibrant golden tones as they walk through the door. 

"I'm taking a shower," Fenris says, stretching a little.

"Again? I read somewhere that showering too much can make your skin fall off."

"That's definitely not true." Fenris waves Garrett off. "I believe you have candles to set up?"

"Not _that_  many candles, it's hot enough already," Garrett says, wrapping his arms around Fenris's waist and kissing him gently. 

Fenris returns the kiss, his eyebrows arched as he pulls away enough to look up at Hawke. "You promised candles."

"You're very handsome."

"That's aside the point."

"I'll go set up the candles."

"Mhm."

Fenris slips out of Garrett's arms and sets off down the hallway towards the washroom without another word.

It doesn't take too long to get everything together. Garrett's room is fairly small, and he keeps all his semi-professional massage oils and whatnot in a box under his bed. It hasn't seen much use in the past few years, so he's had to replace a few things, but the basic equipment (a few handy rollers and massage balls he's collected over the years) is still good. 

He strips the bed of covers and lays down a large towel, lights a few candles, and leaves to heat up some of the oils. When he returns, predictably, Pounce and Haunt have curled up to nap at opposite ends of the bed. 

"You get enough massages already, you furry little shits," Garrett says, shooing a very ruffled Pounce off the towel, and snatching back a hand in time to avoid getting gored by an annoyed Haunt. "That's you too, mister. Don't give me that look, I'm bigger than you."

It's an empty threat, and they both know it; Garrett has plenty of scars from dealing with Haunt over the years. 

Thankfully, Haunt only bares his sharp little teeth at Garrett, then rises to his feet. He takes a very deliberate amount of time to stretch, clearly showing Garrett that he's only leaving because he _wants_  to, before hopping down from the bed and slowly ambling out of the room with an annoyed flick of his long, silver tail.

"In-fucking-credible," Garrett mutters, placing the oils on the bedside table.

A few minutes later, he hears the bathroom door creak open, and soon Fenris appears at the door of the bedroom. His pants are on but his shirt is off, and his hair is doing that fluffy thing it does as it dries, and it's all Garrett can do not to tackle him against the door and toss aside all thoughts of romantic massages in lieu of hot steamy make-outs instead. 

Still, all the preparation and general foofarah of candles and oils have a lovely affect on Fenris, who goes a little pink at the sight of it all. "This... this is quite something."

"Are there enough candles?" Garrett asks innocently, taking Fenris by the hand and leading him into the room. "I could always light a few more."

Fenris swallows. "I believe the number of candles is sufficient, yes."

Garrett nods, and motions to the bed. "Take off your pants and lie down, then."

" _What?_ "

"Full-body massage, Fen, them's the rules." A little softer, he adds, "If you want, I mean."

The look on Fenris's face isn't exactly hesitance, or anxiousness. In fact, it's not dissimilar to the look he had when he suggested they risk a quickie in the washrooms of the Hanged Man; eyes a little wider than usual, pupils swallowing up that gorgeous green, his cheeks still flushed.

Silently, without taking his eyes off Hawke, Fenris slips out of his pants, leaving on a pair of plain black boxer briefs. After a moment, he slips those off as well.

Garrett can't quite mask his slight inhale at the sight. He and Fenris are quickly becoming familiar with one another's bodies, through one thing and another, but showers in cramped quarters and evenings with dim lighting are quite different from this. This is Fenris, standing in full light, all of him, utterly fucking gorgeous and bare and with a look of delicious pride on his face, almost smug, as Garrett looks him over and is all but drooling-

"Your turn," Fenris says.

Garrett's head snaps up as he scrambles to pull his thoughts back together. "Huh?"

"Your turn," Fenris repeats, a little slower, a smile pulling at the corner of his mouth. "How did you phrase it? ' _Them's the rules._ '"

Garrett might be a little addled at the moment by sheer lust and admiration, but it quickly gets through to him that an utterly stunning naked man is telling him to take his clothes off. So he does, starting with his pants and his boxers, then realizing that he started with the wrong half and quickly whipping off the shirt as well, nearly tossing it onto a candle by accident and instead dropping it at his feet. 

He looks up at Fenris, who's definitely smirking now - there's no hiding that Garrett is already half-hard at the sight of him, though a quick glance shows Garrett that Fenris isn't entirely unaffected himself. 

"Alright," says Fenris softly, then turns and lowers himself down onto the bed, stretching out along the towel with his arms folded gracefully under his chin. "Like this?"

"Uh-huh," says Garrett, staring, before remembering that he's supposed to be doing something with all this, and hurrying over to start. "Any, uh, any trouble areas you want me to focus on?"

Fenris laughs. "I believe all of it is a 'trouble area,' quite honestly."

"Fair enough."

Garrett hooks his phone up to a pair of speakers, and picks a playlist of painfully stereotypical New Age music just to hear Fenris groan at him. Fenris reaches over and smacks his bare thigh lazily. " _Anything_ but that."

"Alright, alright."

He turns instead to one of his trash indie jazz albums, all soft guitar and wispy vocals. He doesn't miss Fenris rolling his eyes at the music, but he settles back on the towel regardless, and closes his eyes. 

Stupidly, it reminds Garrett of something he heard on one of those cat behaviouralist shows Anders likes to watch. _If they close their eyes around you, it means they trust you._  Even more stupidly, the thought makes Garrett's heart ache a little.

He shakes his head and pulls his shit together, which is hard considering his next task - straddling Fenris and rubbing warm oil all over him without spontaneously combusting. _God fucking damn_. 

He somehow manages it, awkwardly hovering above where he would usually settle his weight - on the upper thighs, or lower back, all of this suddenly taking on a bit of a different feeling when he's considering resting his bare ballsack somewhere on Fenris's body. Eventually Fenris looks back and casts Garrett an amused look at his hesitance. "You can _sit_ , Hawke. I won't break."

A few possible responses come to mind at once - the irrepressible urge to make a joke at Fenris telling him to "sit," a protest at the fact that Fenris seems to think _weight_  is the issue causing Garrett some grief. Instead, Garrett sits back almost defiantly, resting on the backs of Fenris's thighs.

This fails to help anything, and the skin-to-skin contact has Garrett biting his lip, even as he reaches over to pour a little oil into his palm (the scent is called "Green Musk," which still sounds kind of gross to Garrett, but something about the smell of it made him think of Fenris - cool mint tones mingled with a bit of warm spice, enticing and comforting all at once). 

He's about to start on Fenris's shoulders, when Fenris murmurs, "Your sister..."

This halts Garrett directly in his tracks, and his voice is a little strangled as he says, " _That's_  what you're thinking about right now? My _sister?_ "

Fenris snorts, but continues. "She's leaving. I was just wondering how that might be making you feel."

Garrett bites his lip again, for an entirely different reason this time. "Right, that. Um- it's complicated?"

Fenris glances back over his shoulder at him, brushing a few strands of white hair from his face to see Garrett better (it's getting long, Garrett notices. He wonders who Fenris trusts enough to cut it for him.)

"You said you knew it might happen, so I'm assuming it's been in the works for a while."

"It came up when she was hired on back in April," Garrett says, working the oil between his fingers, his tone level. "She was really on the fence about it. I guess she changed her mind."

There's a pause, but Garrett knows Fenris well enough now to get a sense for when he's weighing his words, so he waits. 

Eventually, Fenris asks, "Does Bela know?"

"I don't know," Garrett says, hearing the lie in his own voice. He shakes his head. "No. She doesn't."

Fenris watches him for a long moment, his face unreadable. Finally, he says, "You and your sister are very different people."

Garrett isn't really sure what to make of this, so he shrugs. "You ready?"

Fenris blinks, and offers Garrett a lazy little smile before turning away again. "Go ahead."

Grateful to change the subject and get things back on track, Garrett gets to work. 

Fenris's shoulders are as tense and knotted as they usually are, and Garrett finds an innate satisfaction in finally being able to properly dig in to the kinked-up muscles with his full strength, aided by the smooth glide of oil over Fenris's skin. It's different, it's _better_ , doing it this way, far better than making do with quick neck rubs during movie nights and car rides home. 

Fenris is quiet under Garrett's hands, even as Garrett works through areas that must be painful. Garrett would find it disconcerting, except... well, he knows Fenris enough to know how he lets himself be vulnerable. _By inches._  Letting Garrett do this - touch him, look at him under full light - would take a fuck ton of trust on Fenris's end. Letting himself make any kind of noise in response would be one more barrier gone between them. 

So Garrett tries to listen to Fenris's body instead, which speaks a language he feels he's starting to become proficient in, if not fluent. He eases off the knotted areas when he feels Fenris start to tense beneath him, works slowly back to them as Fenris relaxes. _Tense, and release. Tense, release._

He finds his mind wandering as he works, though not very far from the current subject: Here under the light of the window, golden evening sun and flickering candles, he starts to memorize the canvas of skin beneath his fingertips. Up close like this, he can see the brown skin cut with faded white lines of ink, curling in sickly beautiful patterns over Fenris's shoulder blades and down the length of his spine. But there's more than the tattoos; now he can see that the slightly roughened patch of skin over Fenris's left shoulder is a scar, not unlike the kind of injury you might see from a vehicle accident, like road rash. There are smaller scars, nicks and cuts that left visible marks in Fenris's dark skin, and for each one Garrett finds himself wondering what the story behind them might be. If he'll ever find out.

If he even wants to know.

He moves from Fenris's shoulders to his spine, taking out one of the rollers for the first time to start working it along the tight line of muscles down Fenris's back. At the first touch of the roller Fenris jerks his head around, clearly startled.

"Shit, sorry, should have mentioned I was switching," Garrett says, lifting up the massager. "It's a-"

He doesn't finish his sentence, interrupted by Fenris bursting into laughter _._

"That looks like some sort of medieval torture device," Fenris chuckles. "Or something Bela might find sexually appealing."

"The two categories tend to overlap," Garrett says, grinning.

Fenris's views on the roller - dubious amusement, if his arched brows are anything to go by - quickly change as Garrett slowly works it down along his spine, applying a deep, even pressure as the rounded spikes of the massager dig into the taut muscles of Fenris's back. Fenris's eyes flutter shut, and he pillows his head back on his arms with a long exhale, pressing up into the roller involuntarily. 

The sight of Fenris so relaxed and clearly enjoying himself should bring Garrett nothing but happiness and affection, and it does. However, it doesn't at all help his growing hard-on, and every time Fenris arches up a little like that his stupidly perfect ass threatens to rub up against Garrett's bare dick, which might just kill him.

Once he feels the muscles along the spine loosen, he puts the roller away and moves to Fenris's lower back, smoothing the heels of his palms deep into the dips above his ass. This is usually where Garrett carries a lot of tension and knots, due to far too many hours spent stooped over a desk and far too few hours in the gym working on his core muscles, so he's a little surprised to find the area relatively smooth. The muscles are tight but well-tended, which prompts a question Garrett's had since meeting Fenris, quite honestly.

"What's your workout routine, anyway?"

Fenris, sounding a little sleepy now, doesn't lift his head as he murmurs, "I hit things." 

"You're such a badass."

"Mm."

Garrett smooths his hands along the planes of Fenris's back, preparing to move a little further down (to the thighs, because while he really does want to get his hands on Fenris's ass, he sort of wants to save that part for last). 

Fenris stops him, however, by abruptly turning over (nearly knocking Garrett off the bed in the process) and leaning up to wrap his arms around Garrett's shoulders, eyes very soft as he looks up at him.

Soft, but definitely heated. Garrett swallows. 

"Haven't done the rest of you yet," he manages to say, even as part of him is screaming to just _stop. Talking._

Fenris raises an eyebrow at him, pulls him close, and kisses him.  

There's a strange feeling of both sudden, desperate need, and a yearning to make this particular moment last: Fenris loose and relaxed in his arms, lips soft against Garrett's mouth, long, scarred fingers trailing down over Garrett's back. Garrett twines his fingers through Fenris's hair and gently pulls, guiding Fenris's head back so he can mouth at the spot over his pulse point that makes Fenris moan. 

"Fuck me," Fenris whispers. 

Garrett lifts his head, his insides doing an odd little flip at the words. "Hm?"

"I want you to fuck me," Fenris says, taking Garrett's chin in his hand, meeting his gaze squarely and fucking _telling_  him. "Right now."

Garrett gapes, and Fenris pulls him down by the chin to kiss his slack lips. 

They've never fucked - not in the literal sense, at any rate. There's still so much there from Fenris's past "relationship," certain roadblocks that even without fucking they've managed to slam up against. Just a few weeks ago Garrett had sunk to his knees to take Fenris into his mouth, only for Fenris to haul him back up again, looking almost horrified. It took some patient, painful conversation over two full mugs of hot chocolate to suss out the problem - kneeling. Kneeling in front of someone, or having someone kneel in front of him, throws Fenris back into a place that Garrett can't follow, can only guess at the shape and context of whatever trauma lies at the root of it all. 

And fucking is a whole other level up from kneeling. 

But Fenris is clear-eyed as he looks at Garrett, his brow smooth, relaxed, and it occurs to Garrett that Fenris might have planned this whole thing out to suit his own needs: A massage to get him relaxed, help him get used to being touched, being handled. He glances at Fenris's clean, still somewhat fluffy hair, almost dry, and realizes that Fenris might not have just showered twice in one day because of Bela's glitter-bomb.

 _Smart_. All of it is so smart, and so self-aware, that Garrett almost wants to congratulate Fenris for it. He suspects that might ruin the moment, however, so instead he just says, "You sure?"

Fenris nods, then looks away. "I would prefer it if- if there's a way we could do it, where I could still see you."

"Yeah, we can do that," Garrett says, and Fenris closes his eyes, clearly relieved. "We'll take it slow."

Fenris's eyes snap back open, and he narrows them at Garrett. "Not _too_  slow."

Garrett's about to say something back, something smart-assed, when Fenris presses his whole body up against him and rolls his hips, rubbing himself off against Garrett's bare skin, a soft moan escaping gently-parted lips. 

"Not too slow," Garrett agrees quickly, voice breaking a little, and Fenris laughs into his collarbone. 

Garrett guides Fenris back down onto the towel, shifting to twine their legs together as he kisses Fenris deeply; his mouth, his throat, leaning up to press his lips to Fenris's ear and grinning as this causes Fenris to squirm a little under him, shoving him with a sound that's clearly meant to cover a quiet laugh as Garrett's beard tickles him. He leans up on his elbows, pulling Garrett away from his sensitive ears by his hair. "Damn _tease_." 

Garrett responds to this accusation by kissing Fenris lightly on the nose, then slipping Fenris's hand out of his hair so he can brush his lips against his knuckles. It has the desired effect as Fenris flushes, all complaints forgotten as he watches Garrett twine their fingers together, pressing another kiss against the inside of Fenris's wrist as he does so. Fenris shivers.

Garrett takes their linked hands and carefully, giving Fenris time to respond, push back, pull away if he needs to, he presses their hands to the pillows above Fenris's head - not pinning him down, but it's vulnerable, having Fenris stretched out like this beneath him, hand caught above the drying halo of white hair spilling onto the sheets beneath him. 

Fenris lets Garrett do this, eyes never leaving Garrett's face, lips softly parted as his chest heaves a little with each intake of breath. There's not a trace of fear or doubt in his expression, that cagey shuttered look almost entirely gone from Fenris's demeanour, and just _looking_  at Fenris like this... looking at him like this, Garrett's starting to realize why so much of the best poetry, the best songs, the most lasting impressions people seem to leave on this ridiculous fucking mess of existence are about love. 

Their next kiss is slower, almost like a first kiss, something of a revelation to be found in it, something they're both entirely present for. 

They break apart, breath still mingling, mouths close enough for Fenris's lips to brush against Garrett's as he says, "Garrett, I'm growing old, here."

"Yep, right, on it," says Garrett.

He reaches over to his bedside table and hauls out a small bottle of his favourite lube, then realizes with a thump of stupidity that he hasn't bought condoms in a while, and he doesn't exactly want to fish around for whatever expired Trojans are lurking in the depths of his bedside drawer. _Shit._

"Pants," Fenris says, watching Garrett's momentary panic. "We just came from Pride, remember? I kept a few of those free condoms for myself." 

Garrett exhales loudly with relief, taking Fenris's face in his hands and giving him a firm kiss. "You're a goddamn _angel_ , you know that?"

"Don't be ridiculous," Fenris mutters, but he sounds pleased with the praise all the same. 

It takes only a few seconds of searching the floor to find Fenris's discarded jeans, and moments later he's got the contents of Fenris's back pocket in his hands - a bit of lint, an old receipt, three condoms and two sample packets of lube. 

"Flattering," Garrett comments, holding up one of the condom packets for Fenris to see - the packaging has "XXL" written across the front in a bold font. 

"I must have grabbed it by mistake," Fenris says airily.

Garrett mimes being stabbed in the heart, tossing the "XXL" aside and choosing a more likely fit. "You wound me, babe, you really do."

Fenris shrugs, and sits up, smirking as he pulls Garrett in close. "Have I insulted your pride?"

"You insulted my dick. Could be a mortal wound. No getting up after that one."

Fenris glances down, and snorts. "Clearly that's not the case." 

"The sight of you has revived our fallen comrade. Your beautiful hotness hath brought it back to life."

"You're fucking _ridiculous_ ," Fenris says, but he's laughing as he does, and soon his mouth is back on Garrett's again. 

A few wonderfully distracting moments later, Garrett breaks away, a thought occurring to him. 

"You know," he says, "if you wanted to fuck me, I'd be totally down-"

"I do want to fuck you," Fenris says, and Garrett's cock fucking _leaps_  at the way Fenris says that, all low heat and growling intent or whatever, it's fucking hot is the point. "But not today. Besides, I'm already... prepared."

"Had a nice shower?"

"I did in fact, yes."

"Oh good." Garrett lets his hand trail down Fenris's chest, further over the flat planes of his stomach, and lower. "Can I-?"

"If you don't get started with all this soon I will bite your nose off, Garrett Hawke."

"Fair enough."

He takes Fenris into his hand, loving the way Fenris's head falls back a little at the touch, a bitten-off sigh shuddering through him as Garrett grips him tightly and pumps once, twice, carefully teasing his thumb over the head.

He helps Fenris lie back down on the bed and shuffles down, keeping a firm hand on Fenris as he does until he can get his mouth down there, taking a moment to kiss Fenris's sharp hipbones because they're _there_ , and he loves the shape of them, and Fenris always hitches up against his lips a little when he does.

He pauses as he sets to move to untouched territory, brushing a soft kiss over Fenris's balls as he trails a fingertip over the soft skin behind them, and asks again, "Is it all right if I-?"

" _Yes_ , Garrett, fucking-"

The rest of Fenris's sentence is lost to fragmented curses, and Garrett knows he's not exactly helping with his slow stroking of Fenris's cock and gentle teasing of his perineum. Still, this isn't the time to be too much of a dick, so he lets go of Fenris for a moment (which prompts a few more colourful curses) to retrieve his lube.

The pop of the lid causes Fenris to tense unmistakably, and Garrett pauses, glancing down to see Fenris with his eyes closed, frowning slightly.

Garrett puts the open lube aside and leans down over Fenris, gently cupping his face in his palm. Fenris opens his eyes. 

"You with me?" Garrett asks softly.

Fenris nods, reaching up to slip his own hand over Garrett's where it rests against his cheek. "I'm fine. Far more than fine."

Garrett smiles, and kisses him again, before returning to the task at hand. 

He picks up the bottle and squirts an impressive mound of lube into his palm, catching Fenris's expression at the amount. "You can never go wrong with shit tons of lube, Fen."

Fenris opens his mouth to say something, then closes it. Opens it again, mutters " _shit tons_ ," and closes it again, falling back against the pillows with a defeated little bounce. 

Garrett positions himself between Fenris's legs, armed with his entirely appropriate amount of lube, then clears his throat awkwardly. "This might feel a bit strange."

"I expect it's about to feel like the entire fucking ocean just came in my-"

" _Trust the lube_ , and not that, I just gotta move your legs a bit."

Fenris looks at him, and shrugs. "Alright."

Carefully, Garrett loops his arms under Fenris's knees, pulling Fenris up a little. Fenris catches on, and hooks his legs over Garrett's shoulders. "Like this?"

Garrett blinks at the sight of Fenris laid out beneath him, long legs balanced against him, his bare ass practically in Garrett's lap, looking like something out of an amazing dream, the kind that tend to end too soon. "Perfect."

Fenris smiles. 

He moves to start coaxing Fenris open with his fingers, then pauses, remembering how the sound of the cap opening had made Fenris flinch. _Distraction, then._

He leans down, Fenris's thighs coming up around his ears as he slips an arm under Fenris's hips, angling him up.

"What-?" he hears Fenris ask, just as he takes Fenris into his mouth.

The rest of Fenris's sentence dissolves into a stuttered moan as Garrett slides his lips down, slowly swallowing Fenris's length up into his mouth. It takes a bit of maneuvering, and it's not his most graceful blowjob ever performed, but he counts it as a victory that Fenris's only response is to press up into his mouth with an audible breath as Garrett slides a lube-covered fingertip over Fenris's entrance. 

He's already somewhat loose, and it's clear that Fenris did take that shower time to thoroughly prepare. Garrett thinks he can make things a little better for him, though, a little more comfortable. So he continues to lick and suck at Fenris, relishing in every shudder and sharp breath as he goes, pausing only to say, "You good for me to-?"

This time, Fenris cuts him off by stretching his leg down Garrett's back to literally kick his ass. Garrett takes that as a solid "yes." 

He gives the tip of Fenris's dick a very chaste little kiss (Fenris calls him something very rude in response), and slides his forefinger into him. 

Fenris still tenses, very slightly, and Garrett moves slowly, continuing to press his lips to every bit of what's between Fenris's legs that he can reach. He works his finger in and out, working the lube in as best he can as well, the Fenris's body accepting him with relative ease. He's probably fine to add another finger, to deepen the stretch, but he looks up to gauge Fenris's mood first. 

Fenris's eyes are closed, the golden summer light streaming through the shutters and falling in bars across his bare chest, his flushed face. There's a hand fisted in his hair and another gripping the sheets, chest rising and falling with heavy breaths. 

Garrett kisses the inside of Fenris's thigh, nudging him with his forehead to get his attention. "I'm going to add another, if that's okay."

Fenris nods, then moves his hand from the sheets to Garrett's hair, tugging in a way that isn't exactly gentle but fuck if Garrett's about to complain. He follows, letting Fenris pull him up between his legs so their faces are close, turning the two of them into a strangely entwined pretzel as Garrett continues to finger him.

Fenris opens his eyes once Garrett is there, gaze heavy-lidded and warm, a smile touching his lips. "Kiss me."

Garrett very happily complies, Fenris's fingers still tangled up in his hair and pulling him in, holding him close, kissing him fiercely and moaning against his lips as Garrett carefully adds a second finger alongside the first. He wraps his arm around Garrett, breaking their kiss to press his face into Garrett's shoulder and breathe as Garrett moves his fingers, scissoring and stretching and concentrating on every twitch and sound from Fenris to make sure, to triple fucking make _sure_  that this isn't hurting him. That Fenris is still here for this. 

Fenris's lips trace the line of Garrett's collarbone, kissing and licking in turns as Garrett works him over. His breath stutters as Garrett traces the tip of his finger over the small, soft mound of his prostate; this turns into a quiet, keening moan as Garrett starts to massage it gently. 

"One more?" Garrett murmurs, tucking his face down to whisper this into Fenris's ear. Fenris just nods, panting against Garrett's chest, pressing up against him like he's trying to fold himself into Garrett. The warmth of his breath against Garrett's skin, the way he clings to Garrett like an anchor, it all makes Garrett want to show Fenris gentleness in every touch and whisper. Makes him want to show him all the things he shouldn't say, so Fenris understands without having to hear the words said out loud. 

He slips in a third finger, knowing where to find that sweet spot now and locating it again quickly. Fenris curses, hips hitching up hard against Garrett, and Garrett can feel him tightening around his fingers - not tensing, not freezing up, but clearly wanting more. 

Garrett gives him what he can while still working to stretch him open, because he wants Fenris to feel good, and safe, and-

He rubs that spot with a little more pressure than he was intending, and Fenris bites him.

"Sorry," Fenris rasps a moment later, once he's removed his teeth from Garrett's shoulder, not sounding entirely apologetic. 

Garrett makes a sort of weak whimpering noise, clears his throat, and says, "S'okay."

"You liked it a bit, didn't you?"

"I might have liked it a _lot_."

Fenris laughs, breaking into a gentle groan as Garrett continues to move his fingers. "Good to know- Garrett, I'm good, you can-"

"Yeah?"

" _Yes_."

Garrett pulls his fingers out, momentarily stumped as he glances around trying to find the condom he'd chosen only for Fenris to press the little packet into Garrett's chest with an amused and impatient little grunt. 

"Genius," Garrett murmurs, kissing Fenris's head, then quickly ripping the condom packet open with his teeth. 

It's been a while, but there's something to be said for the whole "riding a bike" metaphor - once you've spent enough awkward sex ed classes doing unspeakable things with condoms and various pieces of produce, you never forget the technique. Years of sexual activity aside, Garrett always finds himself thinking of bananas and cucumbers whenever he puts a condom on. 

"Having some trouble?" Fenris asks, as Garrett frowns down at the task before him with what's probably much more thought than it's worth. 

"It's not curved enough to be a banana," is what he finds himself saying, only really catching on to what his mouth is doing halfway through the sentence. He glances up to find Fenris staring at him, which is understandable. "Um. I'll explain later?"

"You overestimate how badly I need you to explain that," Fenris says, his mouth twitching.

"Fair enough."

Condom on and phallic produce sorted, Garrett moves in close, leaning down to kiss Fenris and grinning a little as Fenris bites Garrett's lower lip in response, tugging his hair to press their mouths together. 

Garrett breaks away just far enough to say, "I'm going to-"

"Waste time narrating? Yes, I see that."

"Smartass." 

Still, he can see a bit of that tension come back to Fenris's face - just small, just a little bit, just around the eyes - so he's slow as he slips a hand down between them and guides himself to Fenris's entrance; then, finally, presses in. 

It's not exactly anticlimactic; far from. What it is, how it feels, is just... _normal_. Right. Easy.

He slides in to the hilt, unable to stifle his groan - Fenris is tight and deliciously fucking _warm_  around him, so fucking good - but he pulls himself together enough to refocus his attention on Fenris.

Fenris's eyes are closed again, his grip on Garrett's hair and shoulders punishingly tight. Then his eyes fall open again, wide and hazy.

"It doesn't h-" Fenris starts, almost voiceless with clear relief. He shakes his head, and digs his heels into the backs of Garrett's thighs, pressing him in deeper. "It feels good."

Garrett feels a wash of what must only be an echo of Fenris's relief, felt for entirely different reasons, and folds them both over so he can kiss Fenris again, smile pressed against another smile. 

He moves, and feels Fenris gasp against him, a soft and easy sound. 

There's a strange release of held tension in both of them that has nothing to do with sex as Garrett fucks Fenris, slow and gentle, Fenris's hands all over him and guiding him with pulling and pressing, occasionally pausing to trace the lines of Garrett's face with a fingertip, or to run his hands over and through Garrett's hair. Garrett, in turn, pulls back so he can press his lips to Fenris's calf as he rocks into him, relishing the sound of Fenris's laughter as Fenris collapses back against the bed beneath him, groaning into Fenris's skin as his laughter cause his body to tighten around Garrett's cock in exquisite ripples. 

It takes some strength from a body that's already sweating and trembling, but Garrett manages to balance his weight so he can take Fenris's hard length in his palm, still slick with lube, and starts to move his tight fist up and down, firmly jacking him off. 

Fenris's back arches at this, his hand coming up to clasp over his mouth to stifle a loud moan. Feeling warmth pooling in the pit of his stomach at the sight of Fenris, at the feel of Fenris around him and under him and the _sound_  of him, fuck, Garrett knows he's not going to last too long like this. On a hunch, he changes the angle just a little, remembering where he found the spot deep inside Fenris that made Fenris bite him as hard as he did. 

He knows when he finds it immediately - Fenris cries out and squirms under him, all thought of muffling himself clearly driven from his mind. He also tightens around Garrett enough to make Garrett's eyes water and surprise a sharp curse from his lips. 

A lot of things come spilling from Fenris's mouth - moans, curses, Garrett's name over and over again, but amongst all this Garrett hears " _more,_ " so he picks up the pace, holding back just enough to avoid really slamming into Fenris the way his body is _begging_  him to do, with Fenris starting to truly come apart beneath him. Instead he forces himself to think with every thrust, to extract as much pleasure as he can with every deep fuck into Fenris's body, keeping that angle that seems to drive Fenris wild as well as he can so every moment counts. 

Fenris's hand comes to grip Garrett's where it's wrapped tight around his cock, urging him faster, arching with every thrust until they have a rhythm that Garrett can feel is going to drive them to the end.

Fenris shudders, his free hand coming up to grip his own hair as his other hand loses its hold on Garrett's, falling helplessly to the side to claw at the sheets as he gasps, and comes suddenly, breath punched out of him in sharp keening moan. 

This, paired with the way Fenris shivers around Garrett's cock, gripping him tight, is about as much as Garrett can handle. He loses his rhythm, gives everything he can into those last hard thrusts, and follows Fenris over the edge with a shout that makes him pray to God with the last two brain cells he has left that no one related to him has managed to sneak home in all this time.

He's forgotten how fucking _good_  it feels, coming with the heat of someone else's body clenched tight around him. He nearly collapses from the release, the utter relief of it, but he remembers just as he comes off the apex of his high that the person under him is significantly smaller than he is, and manages to catch himself just in time.

There isn't much of a pause between recovering from the brain-addling pleasure of their climax, both panting and sweating and a little disgusting but neither of them caring, and closing the space between their lips to kiss - open-mouthed and lazy and sated, maybe a little shaky, but _good_. 

Garrett pulls out of Fenris, clumsily tying off the condom and tossing it away so he can wrap Fenris up in his arms properly _._ Fenris makes a beleaguered sort of noise as Garrett snuggles in close, aware that Fenris has his own come splattered across his chest and not caring, if anything loving the feeling of it between their bare skin in a primal sort of way. He rolls over with Fenris on top of him, hugging him tight and kissing his hair, his cheeks, his lips, anything he can reach. 

" _Garrett_ ," is all Fenris says, a warm and clearly satisfied exhaustion in his low voice. Garrett meets his eyes, and offers him a smile which Fenris matches with his own, and neither of them really need to say much of anything after that.

-

Not too long after they've used the towel to wipe one another off to the best of their admittedly lethargic abilities, and the candles have all been blown out, and Garrett's wrapped them up in sheets that smell like oils and herbs and laundry, and Fenris has fallen asleep with a smile on his face and his head tucked under Garrett's chin, his palm resting over Garrett's heart; not too long after all of this, Garrett hears the sound of the front door opening and someone coming into the house. He thinks by the sound of heels clicking against the linoleum of the kitchen that it's probably Bela, and not an ax murderer, and promptly falls asleep.

He isn't awake half an hour later for when the clack of heels return to the kitchen, followed by the squeaking, rolling wheels of a suitcase. The front door opens and closes again, and the house is silent after that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THIS CHAPTER TOOK A MILLION YEARS TO WRITE AND I BLAME THE PORN. I don't think it's that long of a chapter but it feels???? Long???????
> 
> ANYWAY FUCKING NOTES
> 
> SO I completely missed it on the last update when it was literally a day off of the anniversary BUT - HEART SAYS GO IS OFFICIALLY OVER A YEAR OLD. WHAT THE EVER-LOVING SHIT. I STARTED THIS MONSTER A FUCKING yEAR AGO.
> 
> I know I say this all the time but seriously from the bottom of my heart you guys are the absolute fucking best. Sticking with this fic, supporting it, you've made it an absolute joy to write and I'm always so damn excited to get another chapter out for you. We're about to run headlong into the chapters bringing about the different climaxes and tie-offs of the storylines in this fic, working to the Big Finale Shit Et All, and it's probably gonna be another goddamn year until we get there given life but I know I wouldn't have gotten this far without you all. 
> 
> Notes?? Proper notes that people apparently like to read about Vancouver and shit?? Let's do it!
> 
> \- The kinky Diagon Alley is a thing. I've bought weed there. I've been tempted to buy some of that nice looking leather bondage stuff there. I've even bought Gravity Falls merch there. It's like a really amazing and extremely strange con. I loved it.  
> \- Having sex in the portable toilets at Pride is also a thing. I've neither witnessed it nor done it, but a friend of mine burst in on a guy giving another guy head in one of them, and it was a... moment for everyone involved.  
> \- I described the dollar bills as "slick" and feel the need to explain that - our dollar bills are plastic. Keep up, rest of the world (or America at least, y'all still have pennies and everything).  
> \- MAHANON AND DORIAN AND BULL. I was legit so excited to get to this part just so I could write my modern!au babies again. Because I love them. Adorable weirdo doofs.  
> \- Bull's comment about Mahanon "not making it to the after party" was directly stolen from Tumblr user HeyScience, who I told about this scene and who didn't mind me flailing about Adoribulavellan for as long as I did and anyway if you read this I hope you don't mind the shout-out and also you're wonderful <3  
> \- Things I looked up for hours to make sure I got properly correct in this chapter: prostates, enemas, and anal douching. Things I didn't touch on in any great detail in this chapter: prostates, enemas, and anal douching. But I know a lot about them now.  
> \- I LISTENED TO A LOT OF CINEMATIC ORCHESTRA WHILE WRITING THE SEX IN THIS CHAPTER. If you've only ever listened to "To Build a Home" I don't blame you because it's amazing but I do suggest checking out the rest of their shit!! "Lilac Wine" "Time and Space" and "Arrival of the Birds/Transformation" give me... feelings (not sexy feelings. But feelings.)  
> \- (Also "To Build a Home" was playing when I wrote those last two paragraphs. Make of that and the fact that I was tearing up a little what you will.)  
> \- Update on FoxNonny? It's finals season and I'm going to die. I'm also probably going to sidle back into film for a bit - hopefully as background this time, fingers crossed - for extra cash before my contract, so prepare for more ridiculous film stories because my God. Fucking film.
> 
> AS ALWAYS I LOVE YOU AND YOU'RE WONDERFUL IN WAYS THAT AT 4.21 AM I LACK WORDS TO DESCRIBE <3 THANK YOU THANK YOU THANK YOU


	28. From Miles Away

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Big big big shout-out and appreciation for TheRealMnemo and ao3 user DemonicWalrus today - both of you helped give me the push I needed to get this chapter out there. You're lovely and wonderful <33

_Every production meeting_ , thinks Marian, _should end at the bar._

It was a longer meeting than anyone had anticipated. What was initially an afternoon teleconference with certain members of the production in New York and LA became a series of conference calls as one issue after another cropped up. It didn't help that no one was able to get a hold of writer Solas F. Harel until three hours after the initial meeting was meant to start. He offered neither an explanation nor an apology, and instead sounded distinctly annoyed that they'd interrupted his "process." 

This prompted everyone in the Vancouver office, once all was said and done, to transition from the workplace to the bar. There they shared pitchers of craft beer and a bottle of wine, discussing the dailies and how it all seemed to be coming together, how they couldn't believe they were on their last full shooting week, how they all still wanted to defenestrate Pheus and how it was damned unfortunate that he was a good actor and the network didn't seem to have enough of a problem with him to warrant a re-cast. 

Then, predictably, conversation turned to the UK.

"I didn't grow up there, but I used to visit Waterford in the summers as a little girl - then London, when Mahanon's parents moved," Alaine told Marian, looking something close to wistful talking about it. "It'll be nice to be back - apparently the studio the network's got there is incredible, and the pictures we've got back from Locations have been stunning..."

It wasn't hard to smile back as Alaine sold Marian on all the attributes of filming overseas. But it was hard to ignore that gnawing guilt that's been plaguing her ever since her birthday. A guilt that shares Isabela's face. 

_But Bela's home now._

It's nearly nine o'clock in the evening when Marian makes it back home again, and the walk to the front door seems to stretch in front of her like something out of a Stanley Kubrick movie. 

_No more putting it off, no more deflecting._  

She's already run through every possible iteration of this conversation in her mind. There's the version where Isabela is angry with her, but forgives her and decides to move with her. There's the version where Isabela is angry with her and leaves her. There's the version where Isabela is surprisingly chill about the whole thing because that happens sometimes, but she decides to end the relationship here because maybe it just makes sense this way, and maybe she didn't see them spending the rest of their lives together anyway. Weeks of anxiety over this have left Marian as prepared as she can be, to the point where she basically has the first bit memorized:

" _Bela, I have something to tell you; I've been offered a job in the UK._ "

And some follow-up comments and apologies:

" _I should have told you sooner, but I needed to figure out what to do on my own._ "

Some added introspection:

" _Okay, that's a shitty excuse, I was honestly just afraid of what you'd say which is totally my own problem and I'm sorry._ "

And hopefully the only thing that matters, the only real truth of the matter:

" _I love you._ "

Marian opens the door.

The house feels oddly empty. She knows from various updates via text and group chats that Bethany is still out with Carver and Merrill, Anders disappeared sometime during the afternoon and has yet to reappear, but as far as she knows Garrett, Fenris, and Bela should be home. It's hard to mistake a house with those three in it for an empty one - last time she came home to that particular trio, they were two bottles of wine and an hour into one of the most depraved sessions of Cards Against Humanity she's ever had the good fortune to walk in on. 

_Maybe Bela's out?_  

It occurs to Marian that she hasn't talked to Bela since this morning. 

She hears the shower running from the main bathroom a few steps into the house, and relaxes a little. She slides her boots off and kicks them into the hall closet, prompting the sudden appearance of two angry cats who yowl and twine around her legs. 

"Have you guys not been fed yet?" Marian asks, receiving only heartbreaking howls in return. "Yeah, alright, one second."

The cats are far from starving - they've got dry food in their bowls - but no one's put out their nightly wet food, hence the dramatic wailing chorus of feline woe. Marian manages to fight them off long enough to get some wet food in bowls before laying them down like some kind of sacrificial offering before the hungry hordes.

Kitty, she finds in the backyard, happily chasing a moth. She lets her in and gives her some dinner too, only to watch as Kitty sits back and lets the cats take over her bowl, their own dinners forgotten. 

"You're such a pushover," Marian mutters, corralling the cats back to their dishes. Kitty just butts her head against Marian's leg in response, then dives into her dinner.

Marian realizes with a short pang that she has no idea if she can take Kitty with her when she moves. She puts the thought aside for now. 

On her way past the washroom she can hear two low voices talking over the rush of pouring water - Fenris and Garrett, then. She thinks of the picture Bela sent her this morning after waking them up and wonders if they've managed to get all the glitter off yet. 

She yawns and stretches in front of her bedroom door, killing time. _You can do this. Don't be a fucking coward._

A deep breath, and she pushes the door open. "Hey, I'm h-"

She blinks. The bedroom is empty. 

The bed's made, which is nice, but there's no Bela lounging back in it, on her laptop or reading a book. 

Marian frowns. _Out, then. Wish she'd told me._

But it's not like they have that kind of relationship, anyway. Or at least, not these past few months. With Marian hardly home and Bela travelling for work so often, keeping constant tabs on each other's whereabouts just became impractical after a certain point. 

Still, Marian feels an odd prickling feeling at the base of her skull as she walks into the room, like there's something she's not quite _seeing_  properly just yet. Like there's something wrong with it. It reminds her of one of those newspaper puzzles where two similar images are put side-by-side, and the trick is to figure out what's different about the second one. What's missing.

She freezes. _What's missing._

Bela's chargers. In the ensuite bathroom, her makeup. Her toothbrush, toothpaste, shampoo - not just the travel ones. Not all of her clothes, but a significant amount. The book she was reading. Jewelry. Important documents and hard drives.

Marian sits down hard on the bed, her mind overtaken by some kind of grey, buzzing static as a cold numbness slowly works its way down from the top of her head all the way down to her toes. She follows the feeling and brings her legs up onto the mattress, curling up against one of the pillows on Bela's side of the bed.

There's a crinkle of paper. Marian rolls over, and finds a letter. She instantly recognizes Bela's handwriting. 

Too numb to feel any particular way about this, she picks it up and starts to read.

_I know, a letter - so horrendously cliché, isn't it?_

_You'll notice I haven't taken all of my things, for several reasons. The main one is that I have nowhere else to put them, quite honestly. The other reason is that I'm hoping after a few days we'll both somehow come to our senses and all of this will be some kind of stupidly overdramatic idiocy that we both vow never to speak of ever again for the rest of our lives. I really am hoping it's not as bad as it seems right now._

_You might guess what this is about. I certainly had no idea._

_You and I are two very independent people, which I think is how we've managed to get this far without one of us killing the other. If you want to leave, then leave, and I mean that with no hard feelings._ ~~_I suppose I just thought_ ~~

_I don't know why you didn't tell me, and the possibilities aren't promising. It could be that you didn't trust me with the truth, which is unfortunate. It could be that you were planning to break this off before going and wanted to wait until the last possible moment to do so, which is also unfortunate, as I would have liked to have known if I've been investing time in a lame duck relationship. It could be that you just didn't think it was worth mentioning, that I didn't have to know._

_I do think you tried to tell me, once or twice, so I'll give you that. E for effort, darling, F- for execution._

_I can't help but feel as though you've made this decision for me, in some way. Had you brought this up when you knew, which must have been months ago, we might have been able to discuss it like adults. To see how our relationship might fit within the bounds of this change._ ~~_I thought it might have been worth at least that much to_ ~~

_I don't know. I really don't know. Either I'll come back and we'll talk this out, or I'll send Garrett a text to tell him where to send my things, and that will be that. I need to think._

~~_I might have gone with you, if you'd trusted me enough to ask._ ~~

_Well, I've wasted enough time on melodrama, it feels like. I've picked up a job in Boston for the week (slightly closer than England, I'll point out) and I'm taking the Red Eye tonight._

_No matter what, I really do wish you well._

_Give my love to Leandra and the twins._

_Bela_

Marian sits up, the buzzing in her head growing louder. She stuffs the letter in her pocket, and finds herself walking out of the room, back into the hallway.

The shower's off now, and she thinks about talking to Garrett, but he's with Fenris and they're so damn _happy_  together, you just have to look at them and you'd know they're head over heels for each other. She can't- not right now, at least. Not yet. 

In a daze, she walks back through the kitchen and thinks about pouring herself a beer, but that seems too indulgent. Like she's congratulating herself somehow. 

Kitty comes to nudge at her palm with a questioning sort of huff and she realizes she's been standing in front of the refrigerator, motionless, for at least a few minutes. She pats Kitty on the head and moves on.

She remembers the cigarettes in her jacket pocket - she's been doing pretty well at cutting back, even with the stress of the shoot - and decides to chain-smoke until her lungs turn black and shrivel up like the ones they show you in anti-smoking videos on Facebook. It seems like a good idea, at least.

She pulls her boots back on, fishes her jacket out from the closet, and checks - the pack is still there, with only three cigarettes in it. So it will be a short smoke chain. Probably not enough for shrivelling. She finds a lighter in the other pocket and puts the jacket back; it's a warm night, she won't need it, she doesn't want it.

With a little more force than strictly necessarily, she wrenches the front door open.

It's impossible to understand what's happening at first, as she's taken down by over six feet of toppling blond nurse and his very surprised plus-one. 

It's only when she comes to terms with where she is - lying on the ground in a heap under Anders and a grey-haired man who she recognizes from some unsubtle stalker photos taken by Garrett - that she realizes what must have happened.

_That's what you get for making out against the front door, asshole._

Any other day, she might laugh. She might call for Bela to take a look at what she's just walked in on. She might comment, airily, that it's not the first time that door's seen similar abuse, and toss Bela a wink. 

"Um," says Anders, somewhere in the vicinity of Marian's cleavage. "Marian, Karl. Karl, er, Marian."

"Pleasure to meet you," says Karl.

Marian bursts into tears.

-

"I think our sex life is cursed," murmurs Fenris.

Garrett narrowly avoids spilling boiling water over his hand as he fumbles the kettle, nearly snapping his own neck to look around at Fenris. "Say _what?_ "

"The first time we really did anything, I wound up in hospital," says Fenris thoughtfully, a little crease between his brows. "Then we had this afternoon, and now... Maybe we should just never have sex again."

Garrett puts the kettle down and turns, taking Fenris's hands into his own and summing up as much sincerity as he can manage. "I don't think there's a curse, but believe me, I will _call a priest to bless our dicks_ if it means we can have sex again."

Fenris meets his eyes with a little smirk. "I'm almost tempted to let you try to do that."

" _I would_ -"

"I know you would." Fenris squeezes his hands, his expression sobering. "We should get back to your sister."

Garrett nods, pressing a kiss to Fenris's damp hair (third shower of the day, but to be fair, they both woke up feeling incredibly gross after their little post-coital nap) before letting go of his hands to retrieve the tea he made for Marian. 

In the living room, Marian sits on the couch with her face in her hands and Kitty curled up beside her, as Anders and Karl attempt to comfort her with varying degrees of awkwardness. The fact that Karl hasn't fled the scene in light of the circumstances is downright admirable, though he keeps shuffling in his chair and clearing his throat far more than strictly necessary. It's a little surreal seeing the DILF Doctor of St Paul's in Garrett's living room, but at least it answers the question of where the fuck Anders disappeared to this afternoon. 

"So, okay, she even said it's not like she _left you_ , left you," Anders is saying, poring over Bela's letter with the intensity of Nicholas Cage searching for an invisible map on the back of the Declaration of Independence. "She just... left, which I mean, haven't we _all_ done that at some point?" To Karl, Anders adds, "Um, no offence, babe."

Karl sighs. 

Fenris holds up a wall near the entrance to the living room as Garrett places the mug of tea in front of Marian, who just sniffles in response. Kitty whines and paws at Marian's knee, looking up at Garrett with sad eyes. 

"I mean," Anders continues, putting the letter on the table, "she was leaving for a business trip anyway, and if she didn't have to leave for that she probably wouldn't have left at all, so it probably looks way more dire than it is? I don't know if I'm helping. Um. Should one of us call her? No, never mind, ignore me, I'm not helping."

"You're trying," Fenris says quietly, not unkindly. "That's something."

Anders gapes at Fenris, looking shocked at his sincerity, and abruptly shuts up. 

"Okay," Garrett says, taking a seat on the other side of Marian and putting a hand on her shoulder. "Thanks everyone, but I think we need some twin time."

Fenris nods, his eyes soft and sympathetic as he looks at Marian, then Garrett, before he turns and leaves for Garrett's room. 

"Right," says Anders, standing and slinging a reusable canvas shopping bag over his shoulder, nodding to Karl. Karl stands as well. "Um, I'll- I'll probably be at Karl's, then. Call me if you need anything?"

Garrett nods. Anders awkwardly adjusts his bag, turning to leave with Karl. 

"Andy," Marian says, not looking up.

Anders pauses, looking back over his shoulder.

Marian swallows, sniffs again, and says, "Is there a leather corset in that bag?"

The noise Anders makes isn't quite a squeak, but it's not far off. Karl loops an arm around Anders' waist and leads him from the room.

Once he hears the front door shut, Garrett turns to his sister, squeezing her shoulder a little. "Mahanon told us you confirmed with Alaine about the UK this afternoon at Pride. He didn't know we didn't know. Bela wasn't with us, but she must have overheard."

Marian nods, roughly wiping tears away from bloodshot eyes. "Not his fault."

"No," Garrett agrees. "I mean, for one thing, he was high off his ass at the time."

Marian chokes out a laugh. "Would've killed to see that."

"It was pretty cute." Garrett bites his lip, then says, "You didn't tell us either, that you confirmed. You didn't- um, you didn't tell me."

Marian doesn't say anything for a long moment. She draws her long legs up to her chest, watery stare fixed on the coffee table, as Garrett waits. 

"It didn't feel real," Marian says finally. "It still doesn't. And... it's not the kind of risk I'm used to. Before it was always going from something bad, to something different. Now-"

She looks at Garrett, and for a striking second he sees her at fourteen again, coming down from a cheap and dangerous high or a fight with their mother or their uncle, scraped knees and palms and bruises around her eyes from fights and lack of sleep. 

Then he blinks, and they're both twenty-eight again.

"I've loved this, Gare," she says softly. "All of us in this tiny stupid house together - fuck knows we all could have afforded to move somewhere nicer ages ago, or at least Bel and I could've. I've been something close to comfortable for the first time since- for the first time in a long time. But they're paying me a shit load of money to live in another country and do a job that makes me want to pull all my hair out and shoot up a bunch of rich fucks in New York and LA and on set, and I fucking _love it._  The two aren't even comparable. They're not even close to being in the same world, that and this. I was so fucking scared of losing this and getting my hopes up and just- fuck, Jesus, I would stay here forever if I could. I wanted to. Bela, you, all of us assholes just tearing up shit around Kirkwall - I don't want it to end. I don't want to move on. I never have. I've loved this so fucking much."

She turns away and shoves her palms against her eyes as tears start to spill over again, and doesn't move away as Garrett pulls her into a tight hug, holding her close against his chest.

They stay like that for a good while, Marian silently crying into her hands as Garrett holds her, Kitty eventually nosing in to rest her enormous head on Marian's lap.

"You fucked up, Ri." Garrett says eventually.

Marian hauls in a shuddering breath. "Yeah."

Quietly, she asks, "Do you still like me though? As a human being, I mean."

Garrett sighs, and hugs her tighter. "There is literally nothing you could do that would make me not like who you are as a human being."

"I could be a fan of Christy Clark."

"Well don't start _testing_  it, now."

Marian laughs, a wet hiccoughing sound. Then, voice breaking, she says, "Bela's not coming back, is she?"

Garrett closes his eyes. "I don't know. She really loves you, Ri."

"I know," Marian says. "I love her too."

-

The bedroom is still too fucking empty, and still too fucking quiet, when Marian enters later. 

It's eleven now, properly nighttime, and the moon is lighting up the room in an eerie blue glow as Marian shuts the door behind her and takes a seat on the end of the bed. It reminds her, strangely, of all the times her father would carry her back to the room she shared with Garrett, the nights she went crying to him after one of her frequent night terrors. When she got a little older, she'd go to Garrett's room instead, not wanting Malcolm Hawke to see how weak she was, how constantly scared she was of the night and the dark and everything that came with it. The empty feeling in her chest and the ache in her face that comes with crying for a good hour is familiar to her, as is the cool dark light of the moon on empty sheets. 

Her father would comfort her, then put her back to bed, and so she learned early; there's a time for comfort, and then a time for dealing with shit on your own. 

She lies back on the bed, staring up at the ceiling, thoughts swirling in her head so fast that they might as well not even be there at all. She puts off the pain of thinking about Bela, and finds herself coming back to the idea of comfort. 

Comfort. Being comfortable. A stupidly underrated, stupidly simple thing, comfort. 

Comfort. 

Also, as a side-thought: Southern Comfort.

She hauls open her bedside drawer and sure enough, there's a half-drunk mickey of the shit nestled in there between bottles of nail polish and old torn-off pages of an _Unbelievable Film Facts!_ daily calendar from last year. She pulls the mickey out and takes a swig directly from the bottle, wincing as the alcohol burns her throat. 

Comfort. She knows it's a popular, unsung choice, giving up dreams for comfort. Why take the risk, why change anything, if you're already content? Not even happy - just content. Happiness need not even apply, quite frankly. She takes another swig. 

_I can't be the only asshole_ , she thinks, _to get stuck between the rock and the hard place that is comfort and risk. Comfort and the chance to do something really fucking amazing._

She thinks. 

About halfway through what's left in the bottle, a thought occurs to her. 

She pulls out her phone and looks up an IMDB page, searching for a name she's come to know very well by now, and scans the credits under a slightly outdated headshot. She opens Netflix and looks up a British slice-of-life miniseries from a few years ago. To her surprise, it comes up as available for viewing.

She slips her earphones in, cradles the bottle close to her chest, and starts to watch. 

-

 

**To: Twigs**

WHAT THE FUCK

 

**To: Twigs**

WHAT THE FUCKING FUCK YOU FUCKING SHITBAG FUCKING LITTLE TALENTED IDIOTIC FUCK

 

**To: Twigs**

THE ABSOLUTE FUCKING HELL SWEET JESUS ON A VESPA FKCU

 

**From: Twigs**

...are you okay??

 

**To: Twigs**

NO WHY THE FUCK ARE YOU AWAKE IT'S 3 AM YUO HAVE TO BE UP IN LIKE TWO HOURS

 

**From: Twigs**

Turns out when you fall asleep at four in the afternoon and don't wake up for ten hours it can fuck up your sleep schedule right good.

 

**From: Twigs**

Also - getting scary all-caps messages from your boss at three in the morning helps kick the old sleeping habit square in the face. 

 

**From: Twigs**

Is everything okay??

 

**To: Twigs**

NO 

 

**To: Twigs**

IT'S NOT FUCKING OKAY

 

**To: Twigs**

BAFTA

 

**From: Twigs**

Oh Christ.

 

**To: Twigs**

SOME KIND OF AWARD you meant a fucking BAFTA you were NOMINATED FOR A FUCKING BAFTA I LOOKED IT UP

 

**From: Twigs**

Is that why you're shouting at me right now??

 

**To: Twigs**

YOU THINK YOU GOT NOMINATED FOR A FUCKING BFATA BECACUASE OF YOUR FUCKING FAMILY>>?

 

**From: Twigs**

Why is this happening

 

**To: Twigs**

I WATCHE yoUR DAMN SHOW LIKE MARATHONED ALL OF SEASON ONE

 

**From: Twigs**

Why

 

**To: Twigs**

YOU WERE FUCKING BRILLIANT YOU ENORMOUS BAFTA-NOMINATED FUCKING ACTOR

 

**To: Twigs**

AND YOU'RE NOT A FUCKING DICK HELLSPAWN EVIL RICH SHIT FOR BRAINS POMPOUS JERK OFF

 

**From: Twigs**

...thank you?

 

**To: Twigs**

we could have had YOU, fucking CHRIST SHIT WE could have had YOU, we could be going to film an awesome show in the UK with YOU

 

**To: Twigs**

And now I'm leaving all my shit behid for motherfucking walking ballsack COREY FUCKING PHEUS INSTEAD

 

**From: Twigs**

Oh shit

 

**From: Twigs**

Shit, I'm so fucking sorry, I just remembered

 

**To: Twigs**

Buddy wait

 

**From: Twigs**

I saw your family at Pride yesterday and I mentioned you were going to the UK and they didn't know - I'm so sorry Marian, that was incredibly stupid and unprofessional of me.

 

**To: Twigs**

kid I know I'm not mad about that. That has no bearing on my current state of being drunkesnly very pissed off with you. 

 

**From: Twigs**

I'm really confused

 

**To: Twigs**

we're fUCKING idiots that's why I'm angry  but mostly people who are good at things who like doing things shouldn't not be doing those things because they think they aren't good enough

 

**To: Twigs**

It had NOTHING to do with your fucking family, I watched you , absolutely NOTHING, you were JUST THAT GOOD

 

**To: Twigs**

Alaine wasn't rtying to give you the part because you're her cousin, it's because you would have been fucking PERFECT in a way that fuck af ace just isn't because he isn't as fucking good as you in pretty much every sense I mean he's taller pretty much everyone is taller than you and he's got nice hair but it's DOUCHE hair your hair isn't DOUCHE hair it's just HAIR

 

**To: Twigs**

if it was because you didn't like the job that's one thing but I know you do and I think the gay thing is definitely a thing but more than that I think you don't think you're good enough and you're afraid people are lying yo you because youve got family in the uindeusty or whatever newsfalsh EVERYONE HAS FAMILY IN THE FUCKING INDUSTRY NOT ALWAYS BLOOD BEUT THAT'S HOW IT FUCKING WORKS

 

**To: Twigs**

It should have fucking been you

 

**From: Twigs**

...............you're certain this isn't about me blabbing to your friends about you leaving

 

**To: Twigs**

THis is NOT ABOUT THAT

 

**To: Twigs**

actually okay pretend it is that pretend that's the thing because you feel guilty about that and I need leverage becaus you need to promise me something

 

**To: Twigs**

say you Promise

 

**From: Twigs**

I don't know what you want me to promise

 

**To: Twigs**

Promise first explan after because you feel REALLY FUCKING BAD RIGHT

 

**From: Twigs**

This is emotional blackmail from my boss. I want that on the record. This is fucked and I'm only allowing it because you're drunk and you're right I feel really quite awful about what I did. 

 

**From: Twigs**

I promise.

 

**To: Twigs**

I'll amke it easy. I could just make you promasei to start acting again because you're GOOD ADT IT AND YOU LIKE IT but I'll make it easy. If you're offered a role and I'm in any way a person that could be affecte by you not taking the role - as in hiring a fucking hack douche instead of you - you fucking take it unless you ahve a cast0iron solid excuse not to do it. tHAt's what you just promised. no motherufkcin backsies.

 

**From: Twigs**

I'm the last person to be giving any kind of advice about excess of vices after spending an hour yesterday staring at a wall and singing lyrics from Jesus Christ Superstar but... tell me you're drinking at least five gallons of water right now. And eating a loaf of bread.

 

**To: Twigs**

kid I am a hardened veteranof the alcohols and you should know I've already thrown up twice and am perfectly fine now  

 

**From: Twigs**

Oh God

 

**From: Twigs**

Should I tell Alaine you're going to be coming into the office a little late this morning?

 

**To: Twigs**

I've already sent her a few e-mails, at least one of them shoulad be coherent enough to give her a heads up.

 

**From: Twigs**

Ah. Okay. Right. You're going to sleep now, right?

 

**To: Twigs**

I migahtka already be asleep.

 

**From: Twigs**

That would explain a little bit.

 

**To: Twigs**

don't sass your mothear young man. But seriosuyl that one epsideo with the aprt with the cancer>> like your fictional brother ahs cancer

 

**To: Twigs**

made me cry you made me cry damna it you're a REALLY GOOD ACTOR AND yOU SHOULD BE ACTING

 

**From: Twigs**

Thank you. And; okay.

 

**To: Twigs**

"okay"like you're going to do it oa okay" like the other kaind of ok

 

**From: Twigs**

Okay like... I'll think about it.

 

**From: Twigs**

You should really sleep. Are you sure you're okay?

 

**To: Twigs**

YOUGNA MAN I am FINE

 

**To: Twigs**

I am the PicTURE of HEaLTH

 

**To: Twigs**

If Asdnythign I'm mostre halthy tan I kNW wha

 

**From: Twigs**

......

 

**From: Twigs**

Marian?

 

**From: Twigs**

I'm going to hope this means you're asleep and not dead. 

 

**From: Twigs**

Goodnight/morning, have a good rest.

 

**From: Twigs**

...please don't be dead??

 

**From: Twigs**

Fucking hell.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HEY EVERYONE IT'S BEEN A WHILE
> 
> So fun fact - I wrote this chapter a month ago, hated everything about it, and let it ferment in my drafts for thirty days while I figured out how to fix it. We're getting into parts of the story that I've been planning since the beginning, which is fantastic and terrifying because man the need to do justice by ideas I've had for a year now is a strong and mighty need indeed. It really really really helps more than I can say to see that people are still invested in this story, so I really want to especially say a huge and mighty thank you to readers who've been here since chapter one and readers who showed up to read yesterday alike; honestly you make this so damn worth it and I love each and every one of you.
> 
> ANYWAY NOTES
> 
> \- not too much on this one honestly, but I will say that BC just had a provincial election that ended in a bit of a stalemate and we honestly don't know how things are really going to go until May 24. the Christy Clark mentioned in-text is the current Premier of BC and is Awful(TM) and has always been Awful(TM). 
> 
> \- if you're a Christy Clark supporter and you were offended by the joke in-text I'm sorry and I promise if you're a sweet and kind human being I probably like you anyway (but seriously Christy Clark is the worst and you can do better)
> 
> \- I might be losing my mind a little bit as I worked 14 hours on election day and I'm apparently still recovering from that
> 
> Hopefully hopefully hopefully the next few chapters should be up a lot sooner than this one, and hopefully though short this one delivered! As always comments are my lifeblood and some of you out there are really fucking smart in terms of guessing plot things that are going to happen well before they happen (like seriously I won't say who but one of you in the comments recently guessed a Plot Thing that's gonna happen well down the line so congratulations you who shall not be named you're officially psychic). 
> 
> What I'm trying to say is I love you all. <3


	29. Well, Shit

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter goes out to all the lovelies who've said sweet and wonderful things about Mahanon whenever he's come up in the story, especially Tumblr babes HeyScience, TheRealMnemo, GrimSister, and StitchCasual. I love you to bits.
> 
> Also major shout-out to mega sweetheart AthenasDragon and her buddies, whose encouragement and incredibly thoughtful comments pushed me to finish this chapter and get it out. You're tremendous. <3
> 
> Also also, content warning on this chapter for homophobia and general dickishness.

The fallout from Sunday carries through the next few days.

Monday, Garrett breaks the news to Bethany and Carver - Bethany in person, Carver over the phone - while Marian is at work. Bethany spends most of the conversation with her hand clasped over her mouth, eyes wide, as Carver stays utterly silent on the other end of the line.

"God, I don't blame Bela, I can't-" Bethany stops, her lips thin and kind eyes hard. "I thought she was _over_ this kind of thing, Gare, I thought Marian was done running off without giving a shit about any of us-"

"That's not fair," Garrett says evenly, though God knows he understands where Bethany's anger is coming from. "Bethy, she loves us, you know that. She always has. And this isn't like before."

Bethany's face falls, anger giving way to hurt, and she says, "I want to believe that, Garrett. I really want to believe that. But so far it feels like the exact same shit."

The house is quiet when Marian returns later, bags under her eyes and her short hair sticking up at odd angles. Garrett pulls a beer out for her as she comes into the kitchen, but she ignores it, heading straight for the liquor cupboard instead. "Where's Bethy?"

Garrett puts the beer back into the fridge, carefully focusing his attention back on the pasta currently boiling on the stove. "She's staying with a friend tonight."

"Oh." Marian takes a glass out, pours herself a hefty amount of whiskey, then says, "I take it you told her what happened?"

"Yeah. Sorry, I thought it'd be easier if-"

"No, no, it is. Thanks." Marian pauses a moment, then says, "I'm not super hungry."

"I'll save you a plate."

"Okay."

She leaves the kitchen, and a few moments later, Garrett hears her door shut. He doesn't see her for the rest of the night.

The worst part for Garrett - well, one of the worst parts - is that Bela is his friend, too, and quite a close one. He wants to text her or call her, ask how she's doing, if she's alright, if he can help, but he knows he's coming at this from the wrong side of things. No effort to reach her or comfort her would come without context, and ultimately he'd only be helping himself.

He mentions this to Fenris, on Wednesday, as he visits him at work. It's a slower day in the café, luckily, and Fenris has a few moments to lean over the counter and speak with Garrett between lazy afternoon customers drifting in for cold drinks. 

"She knows you're still her friend, Hawke, and you have nothing to do with Marian's decision," says Fenris, tapping a finger on the counter as he talks, his brow furrowed. "I think you're right to give her space though."

Garrett looks at Fenris for a moment, reading between the lines, and says, "You've talked to her."

"I messaged her yesterday," says Fenris. "She's being very... _Bela_  about the whole thing, but- well, she's certainly not happy."

"That's more than entirely fair," says Garrett, sipping his coffee. Before really thinking about the question, he asks, "What would you do, if you were her?"

Fenris raises his eyebrows. "What would I do if after years together, you decided to move to another country without telling me?"

"Something along those lines, yeah."

"I would leave."

Oddly, the frankness of those words, the lack of hesitation; it reassures Garrett, in a way he can't really describe. Knowing that Fenris, despite everything, the carefully buried insecurities and the pain that seems to run deep and close under his tattooed skin - knowing he recognizes his limits and boundaries, is utterly relieving to Garrett. 

Fenris isn't finished though, and continues with a sigh. "I'm not Bela, however, and you aren't Marian. Their relationship is... something else entirely. Something that might survive this, if both of them are willing to come to a middle."

"That's what I'm hoping," says Garrett.

Fenris offers Garrett a twisted smile. "For Marian, or for Bela?"

Garrett opens his mouth to respond, and stops. Looks down at his coffee. 

"She's your sister, Garrett," says Fenris softly, and when Garrett looks up he sees an odd pain flicker across Fenris's face before it's carefully tucked away. "Of course you want her to be happy."

Garrett rubs his forehead, and says, "That's why I haven't messaged Bela."

"Yes, and that's why you shouldn't."

-

Thursday is hell.

Monday was hell, of course - Marian dragged herself into the office about three hours after she fell asleep, still a little drunk and exhausted on every level from physical to mental to spiritual. Alaine, presumably warned about the coming storm by Mahanon, was far nicer about the whole thing than she should have been, and kept Bodahn on constant coffee duty so Marian was never more than an arm's length from a full, hot cup. 

Tuesday was hell. Wednesday was hell. Even without the hangovers. It's been three days of fucking shit, with Bethany refusing to speak to her and Garrett trying to take care of her and everyone acting like Marian's about to shatter. She isn't. She's been through worse.

She's done worse. This kind of self-destructive fuckery is nothing new. She just thought she was past it, was all. 

She didn't call Bela on Monday, because she wanted to give Bela her space. 

She called Bela five times on Tuesday, because she thought maybe Bela was waiting for her to show that she really did actually care, and not calling her before might have been a mistake. Of the five calls, all bounced to voicemail, Marian left a single voice message, just one word: "Sorry." 

She regrets that voicemail, now. Fucking stupid. She should have said more. She should have said nothing. She should have said everything, _everything_ , five months ago when it might have made a difference. Two, three years ago, when it might have made a difference.

She spent yesterday pretending she wasn't thinking about it, and now it's Thursday, and Thursday so far has been hell. 

At the very least, it's a studio day - controlled environment, fewer paycheques to worry about, about the tightest ship one could run at this point in the production. _Three days of filming left... just three more days after today..._

Tomorrow, Monday, Tuesday. Then she's free to break the fuck down or get her life together, whichever comes easiest.

Her phone has been uncharacteristically quiet, without her usual updates from Mahanon beyond the professional, and without Carver complaining about assholes on set. They seem to be respecting her grieving, or moping, or whatever the fuck it is she's doing, but she finds herself missing the constant gossipy updates, especially from boring, close-quarters set days. Too much time on her hands to think, now, and fuck does she ever hate it.

It's during one of these long silences, while the production is on lunch, that Marian's phone rings.

For a stupid, _stupid_  fucking moment, Marian's heart does a fucking backflip of relief and dread, thinking it might be Bela. 

It isn't, of course. It hasn't been every other time this has happened, from Monday to Tuesday to Wednesday. It's just a little weird that her personal cellphone is ringing, with the transport captain's number flashing up on the screen, instead of the office phone. 

She picks up.

"Are you asking me on a date?" she asks blandly.

" _Um... no. This- this is Marian Hawke, right?_ "

"Uh-huh."

" _It's Denny. You need to come down to set right away._ "

Marian frowns. "Why, did someone fucking die?"

" _No, but- I'd prefer not to discuss it over the phone._ "

"Buddy, you called my cell, not the office phone. Are you afraid of NSA agents listening in? Is there a spy in our midst we should be worried about?"

A crackle of static indicates a very long sigh on the other end of the phone.

" _It's urgent._ "

"I'm already getting my shit together." She isn't. "Just tell me what's going on."

Another crackle of static, then:

" _There was a physical altercation between a PA, the TAD, and our principal actor. Is that urgent enough?_ "

Marian is out the door and running before Denny finishes his sentence.

-

The crew is on lunch, thank fuck, so Marian does her best to ghost past grips, PAs, and cam-ops as they mill about the studio wolfing down pulled pork sandwiches or vegetarian ravioli from thick paper plates, some in the parking lot alternating between bites of food and drags of cigarette smoke. She keeps an ear out for the general gossip, but it all seems to centre around the night shoot tomorrow and the crafty guy's impending mental breakdown over non-celiac crew members scarfing down the expensive gluten-free alternative snacks. Nothing about a fistfight between Locations, Production, and the lead.

She rounds the back of the studio and comes to a small alley tucked away behind a line of transport vehicles, where Denny promised the situation is contained, and is tragically unsurprised to immediately see her brother holding a visibly shaken Merrill.

"Carver," she says, fighting to keep her voice low, "tell me you didn't _physically assault_  a man with more lawyers than this show has background actors-"

"What?" Carver blinks at Marian. "I didn't do shit."

"I did," sniffs Merrill. 

Marian stares, but before she can voice the very enthusiastic " _what the fuck_ " building in her vocal cords, Denny calls her over. 

If the sight of Carver and Merrill was depressingly predictable at the scene of whatever the fuck is going on, seeing an uncharacteristically pissed-off Mahanon sitting on the liftgate of the slush truck with what looks like a can of Cariboo held against his face and a split lip is nothing short of a visual representation of the phrase, " _Saw that one coming._ " On the other side of the alley, Pheus rants at Denny and a burly transport lady, his usual regal arrogance undercut somewhat by the bloody Kleenex hanging out of his nostrils. 

"-and if I had my phone on me, which _by rights_  I should have access to, I wouldn't just be calling my _lawyer_  and my _agent,_  but the _police-_ "

"Okay, let's see if we can't keep this in the family, shall?" Marian says, clapping her hands together and beckoning Carver and Merrill closer. "Anyone feel like telling me what the fuck is going on?"

"What's 'going on' is I was _assaulted_ , Ms Hawke," snaps Pheus thickly, pointing at Mahanon. "By that jumped-up little _shit._ "

"Oh, get fucked," mutters Mahanon.

" _You-_ "

"Okay, no, nope, this is not making things any clearer to me, so everyone shut up for now," Marian says, pinching the bridge of her nose to stave off the massive headache brewing. "Merrill, you mentioned being... involved?"

At this, Mahanon, Carver, and Pheus begin talking at once.

"It wasn't her fault, Marian-"

"She was defending herself from-"

"It was _entirely_ a misunderstanding-"

"Seriously, everyone, _shut up_ ," Marian says, raising a hand. "Are any of you Merrill? No? Then fucking shush. Merrill?"

Merrill glances up at Carver, biting her lip, and Carver squeezes her hand. She turns to Marian.

"I- I was just back here watching the trucks," says Merrill, swallowing hard. "Then, um, Corey showed up, and he was being- he was flirting, I guess, but-" Merrill's voice strengthens, eyes hardening. "I told him I wasn't interested, but he cornered me against the wall and tried to kiss me-"

"Please," scoffs Pheus, "don't act like you haven't practically been throwing yourself at me since-"

"Pheus, unless you want me to give you a black eye to match your fucking nose, absolutely shut your face," snaps Marian. "Alright, Pheus was a prick, and then?"

Merrill lifts her chin. "I kneed him in the bollocks."

Denny unconvincingly tries to cover his snort with a cough, and Pheus reddens. 

"Forgetting, of course, that Pheus was probably wearing a cup because of the stunt scene you all just broke from," Marian says. 

Merrill nods. "So, I did that, and I pushed him off me, and then Mahanon was there-"

"Why was Mahanon there?"

"Looking for Pheus," Mahanon mutters quietly from the truck. "Loghain wanted to see him."

"Fine, okay, continue Merrill."

"So Mahanon was suddenly there, and he pulled Corey away from me," Merrill says. "And he asked what was going on, and he was going to call you, and then Corey said-" At this, Merrill falters, looking simultaneously enraged and uncertain. "He- I mean, he and Mahanon started arguing, and Corey called him a f-"

She stops again. Mahanon closes his eyes, and Pheus suddenly seems to take a keen and dedicated interest in his cuticles. 

"I'm gonna need some specificity," Marian says, though given the tension she has a few guesses.

Merrill struggles briefly, then eventually says, "It was- homophobic."

Marian grinds her teeth for a moment, turning to Pheus. "You called him a faggot."

Pheus huffs. "It doesn't mean the same thing back in England-"

"Bullshit," say Mahanon and Merrill in unison. 

"Okay," says Marian, folding her arms to hide her clenched fists. "And then?"

"I shoved him," says Mahanon.

"You see? He _admits-_ "

"Pheus, you're really fucking mistaken if you think you've got any kind of high ground right now," says Marian. " _Fine._  You shoved him. Then?"

"Then he _hit_  me," spits Pheus.

"No, first I got backhanded across the face by a man in tights," says Mahanon shortly. "Then, yes, I hit him."

"Then Corey punched him-"

"Then _he_  punched _me-_ "

"Then-"

"I get the picture," says Marian, waving the sudden clamour of voices off. "And then I'm guessing the lovely lads and lasses of Transport came and wrestled you two apart, is that about the size of it?"

"Yep," Denny says. "If it helps, the kid was really holding his own against Pheus. Impressive shit."

"It doesn't, but thanks anyway," Marian says, rubbing her temples. "Fantastic."

"I demand that the authorities be called," Pheus snarls. "If you think I'm not going to press charges-"

"You want me to call the police?" Marian says, rounding on Pheus and feeling a grim sense of satisfaction as he shrinks back a little. "I can do that. Then we can all sit here and discuss your sexual assault of a young woman on the job. Hell, I can do one better! I can call in one of those lovely 'reporters' who keep stalking our sets and tell them how you verbally harassed Alaine Rutherford's cousin. That's one for the tabloids, there's enough big names involved there to keep the bottom feeders happy for a few weeks."

"Marian-" says Mahanon. 

"You wouldn't dare," Pheus hisses. "It's my word against the word of a PA and a washed-out little bog-trotter-"

Merrill and Mahanon both start forward at this, and Carver quickly takes Merrill's shoulder as Marian puts a hand up to stop Mahanon. 

"Buddy, I don't think you get what's happening here," Marian says coldly. "It's not your word against theirs, it's _our word_  against _yours._ Maybe you haven't noticed, but you haven't exactly made a lot of friends here. I don't care what fancy lawyers you've got ready to crawl out of the woodwork, once Alaine hears what's happened, you'll be lucky to get a job on anything of any significance ever again _._  You think this is the first time the industry's swept a homophobic jackass like you under the rug? The Rutherfords can bury you. And if they don't, I will."

Pheus opens his mouth a few times, white with rage, but ultimately closes it, his glare hard and frigid.

"So here's what's going to happen," Marian says quietly. "Subject to change if Alaine doesn't decide to salt the earth on this whole thing just to fuck you over, which she just might. I'm declaring _force majeur_  for the day. You're going to the clinic for an accident sustained on-set. You keep your mouth fucking shut about taking a few well-earned hits from Mahanon. We keep our mouths shut about your end of today's fuckery, unless Merrill decides to press charges against your pompous fucking ass, in which case I will happily back her up. We get through these last few days with the strict understanding that if you try to pull anything, I will personally make it my mission to destroy whatever career you manage to slink off to after this."

Pheus narrows his eyes. "You're a glorified secretary. You can't do that."

Marian steps forward, grateful for the few inches she has on Pheus as she stares him down. "Try me _._ "

The alley is silent for a few long, tense seconds.

Pheus glances around, presumably taking in Merrill (held back by Carver, vibrating with anger), Mahanon (bloody and bruised and looking ready for another round), the transport folks (by turns amused and clearly irritated, having their own pent-up grievances with Pheus), and finally Marian: cold eyes ringed by dark circles, lips thin. 

Pheus licks his lips, adjusts the Kleenex hanging out of his bloody nose, and steps back. 

"Denny, have someone with a firm comprehension of what 'non-disclosure agreement' means take Pheus to a clinic," Marian says, her eyes still fixed on Pheus's sullen face. "Then start letting the production team know that we're pulling the plug on today. I'll talk to them myself in a bit. Pheus, get the fuck out of my sight before I deck you myself."

Pheus sneers, and turns to Mahanon. "This isn't over, Lavellan."

"Oh, fuck off, you clichéd shite," Mahanon says wearily, leaning back against the liftgate. 

Denny rolls his eyes, and together he and his colleague all but frogmarch Pheus out of the alley.

Marian takes a moment to drag her brain cells together, then turns around to face the three shaken twenty-somethings left in front of her.

"Okay, obvious questions first," Marian says gently. "Merrill, Mahanon - are you two okay?"

"I'm alright," Merrill says, though with Pheus gone she seems to sag a little, her face drawn. "I- I don't want to press charges, if that's alright. But he really clocked Mahanon hard, Marian-"

"S'fine," says Mahanon, eyes averted. 

"Bullshit," Carver says. "All of this- it's such fucking bullshit! Marian, you're not just going to let that fucking dick get away with this, right?"

"Not exactly," Marian sighs. "But it's a fucked situation, Carv. Merrill and Mahanon are both here on visas - if Pheus decided to press charges, it would complicate their status here and tie everyone up in court shenanigans until we're all old and grey. I'm not saying you two shouldn't do anything about this," Marian adds to Merrill and Mahanon, "but you have options. We still have to hear what Alaine has to say about all this, anyway."

Mahanon groans at that, covering his face with his hand.

"I'm going to take Merrill home," Carver says, then looks at Merrill uncertainly. "Um, I mean, if that's okay with you."

"More than okay," Merrill says softly, taking his hand in her own. Seemingly oblivious to the way this causes Carver to suddenly turn very crimson indeed, she turns to Marian. "Thank you."

"No, thank you," says Marian, giving Merrill a little salute. "I'm glad someone got a chance to kick Pheus in the balls, and I'm even more glad it was you."

Merrill's smile is very sharp indeed as she says, "My pleasure."

"Hey, do you need a ride anywhere?" Carver says to Mahanon, frowning despite the blush lingering on his cheeks. "Like, maybe a hospital or something? You look kinda shit-kicked, no offence."

"None taken," Mahanon says, and shakes his head. "I drove here, I'm fine for getting back."

Carver glances from Mahanon to Marian, clearly concerned, but Marian gives him a little nod. "Well, okay. Good job on messing up the douchewad's nose, anyway."

"Cheers," says Mahanon. 

Marian waits for Carver and Merrill to leave the alley, hand in hand, before joining Mahanon at the liftgate. 

"I've got a question," Marian says, and Mahanon lifts his head. "What the ever-loving fuck is a ' _bog-trotter_ '?"

Mahanon laughs at this, wincing as this pulls on his split lip. "It's basically like, 'low-born Irish' or something. There's worse ones out there; I'm sort of surprised Merrill knew what it meant."

"Wow, Pheus continues to surprise and astonish with his ability to be a fucking dick," Marian says, and Mahanon nods fervently. Quieter, she says, "How are you doing?"

Mahanon blows out a very long sigh. "I mean, I've certainly had better days, but on the whole - it _was_  pretty nice getting to punch that man in the face."

"And how's your hand, after that?"

"Maybe a little fucked."

"I figured. Next time, aim lower - there are a lot of bones in a skull, and more than a lot in that man's skull in particular." Marian puts a hand on Mahanon's shoulder, a little awkwardly. "For what it's worth, I'm sorry. About what he said, I mean. And also for his left hook."

Mahanon looks away, but not before Marian catches a slight sheen in his eyes. "More of a bitchslap, honestly. And anyway, coming from a waste of human skin like that? I'm not bothered."

"'Course not," Marian says, allowing Mahanon his brave face. "You sure you don't need a ride home? Maybe you could call Bull, or something - I'd love to see Pheus get his ass handed to him by a seven-foot biker, to be honest."

"God, wouldn't we all," Mahanon mutters. "No, I'm alright. I'm- well, I'm guessing you'll want another TAD, after this."

"Yeah, but not because you punched out a homophobic shit-for-brains," Marian says, dropping her hand. "We need Pheus for these last few shooting days, but I don't think it's fair to inflict his presence on you. I'm pretty sure we can work it out so you get paid for those days anyways-"

"No, no- I don't need it," Mahanon says. "Just- if there's any way you can keep Alaine from... well, being Alaine, I'd appreciate it. Last thing I need is a phone call from my mum shouting at me from Waterford because Auntie So-and-So heard from Cousin What's-Her-Name that Alaine said I got trounced by some posh git from Sussex."

"I can try, but that woman is a force unto herself," Marian says. She clasps her hands together, twiddling her thumbs. "You know, on the off-chance we actually pull this whole thing off, even with today - I don't think Pheus will be coming with us over to the UK, yeah? Last-minute post-pilot recasts aren't uncommon, you know. If you wanted to throw your hat into the ring this time around..."

Mahanon tilts his head, face slowly brightening - just a little bit, but there's something like a smile there. "I'd need to update my audition reel, get some new headshots done..."

Marian winces, taking in Mahanon's blackening eye and swollen lip. "I'd wait on that for a few weeks if I were you."

"Fair enough." Mahanon hesitates a moment, then turns and surprises Marian with a hug. "Thanks."

Marian pats him on the back, smiling crookedly. "No problem."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HOLY SMOKES GUYS WHAT A CRAZY FEW MONTHS IT'S BEEN.
> 
> I planned to get this chapter out in early June, especially given the fact that I started writing it literally the day after I posted the last chapter. However I wound up back in Smalltown Hell on a shorter contract than last year's, and let me tell you, the word "shitshow" does not come close to describing it. It got to a point where the cast had a mental breakdown and I took them on a nature hike during rehearsal hours (note: I'm the music director. MUSIC DIRECTOR. Yet somehow ended up acting as stage manager, director, camp counsellor, director's therapist, artistic director's lackey, etc.)
> 
> I'm back in the Lower Mainland now, thank God, and the province is kind of on fire, which is unfortunate, but on the bright side I'm now drifting around looking for contract work so I don't starve before my paper goes back into regular circulation (the bright side of that is that I have more free time, so... yay?).
> 
> I do want to do a follow-up piece from Mahanon's PoV about this chapter, which would probably wind up as a short under the "Kirkwall - Vancouver, BC" series, so keep an eye out for that if that's a thing you find interesting. If I write it I'll try to remember to link it to this chapter for easy access.
> 
> Usually this is where I'd add a million more notes but quite honestly I accidentally woke up at 4 a.m. this morning and decided to finish this chapter instead of going back to sleep and I'm VERY TIRED so I'm gonna post this and probably find a million typos later and weep. IF YOU HAVE QUESTIONS ABOUT ANY OF THE TERMS USED IN THIS CHAPTER FOR FILM OR LIFE OR CANADA PLEASE ASK THEM IN THE COMMENTS AND I WILL ANSWER THEM WHEN I HAVE A BRAIN AGAIN.
> 
> As always, thank you all so so so so SO SO SO so SO incredibly much for your comments and support for this story, holy crap. I was starting to have a weird crisis last chapter of "oh gosh maybe I suck at this" because, I mean, writers, we do that, but I received some incredibly uplifting feedback that really helped me get back into the swing of things. Chapters will hopefully be much more frequent now that I'm not actively running around trying to keep things from catching fire and exploding, metaphorically and literally. Thank you, and I love you all!!


	30. Less or More

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WOW this chapter went places I didn't expect it to go tbh? CW on this chapter for some nebulous references to mental illness, especially executive dysfunction.
> 
> EDIT: I FUCLKDFSDING POSTED THIS CHAPTER IN THE WRONG FUCKING STORY THE FIRST TIME CHRIST I'M A DUMBASS ANYWAY HERE'S FUCKING WONDERWALL

"Look, we're here because we care about you, okay? This is a safe place." 

Marian doesn't look up from her $2 Happy Hour beer, chin propped in her hand. "It's the Hanged Man, Gare."

"And what safer place could there possibly be than our local pub?" Garrett says, gesturing grandly. "The place where everyone knows our names?"

"They know our names because Razzy and Norah keep warning the new staff about us," says Varric, sounding pleased.

"I think they have to, legally," says Aveline quietly, sounding significantly less pleased. 

"Even so. Ri, look- I know the past few weeks have been... rough."

Marian shrugs. "S'not so bad. Now the production's wrapped I actually get to sleep sometimes."

"Yeah, um, you've been sleeping a lot though," says Anders, his face pinching into a worried grimace. "Not that we've been keeping track or anything, but- I mean, we kind of have. It's a lot. Usually we measure sleep in hours, not... weekends."

"Making up for lost time." 

"Sure, and I mean, self care is important," says Garrett, sounding over-bright as he glances around the table, clearly looking for buy-in. He's met with a round of shrugs. "Helpful. Okay, I think what we're trying to say is... it's been a month, hasn't it?"

Marian likes to think she doesn't know how long it's been down to the day, down to the hour, both since she saw Isabela last (thirty-seven days, roughly thirteen hours) and since she read Isabela's letter (thirty days, four hours). She does, though. It's like a set of unconscious timers running in the back of her mind throughout the day, no matter how aggressively she tries to drown it out with work and drink and sleep. 

She shrugs. "I guess."

"She sent in a deposit for September, so she hasn't moved out," says Anders, biting his lip. "Not officially, anyway. And none of us have heard from her?"

"She sent me a snapchat of the American cover of  _Sword and Shields_ ," Varric says, shaking his head. "It was physically painful to look at, let me tell you. Maximum purple prose cringe levels. Other than that, no."

"Okay," says Garrett. "Basically I think what we're saying is- well, I just want to make sure you're okay, that's all." 

Marian glances up, then fixes her gaze to her beer again. "Not quite a full intervention, is it? Twins aren't here."

"Neither is Hot Topic," says Anders. "Have you tried that one yet, Varric?"

"I've implied it, but it's never reached the status of full moniker," says Varric thoughtfully. "I'll have to see how it sits on the man in-person. I take it he's closing out the café tonight?"

"Late shift tonight and tomorrow," Garrett sighs. "And Carver's got a night class on Thursdays now. Can't believe it's fucking September already-"

"And Bethy didn't want to come," says Marian, feeling grittily satisfied with the awkward silence that follows. She's barely seen her sister since Isabela left, despite living in the same house. She hasn't tried to force the issue by inflicting herself on Bethany - doesn't see the point. Bethany will talk when she wants to talk, and if she doesn't, well, Marian doesn't exactly blame her. 

"She'll come around," Garrett says gently.  _Liar._  "Honestly, I think she's just sad you're leaving."

"Sure," says Marian, following with a long swallow of cheap beer.

"How is that all going, by the way?" asks Aveline, frowning. "I imagine it's a little more complicated now, considering..."

By this point, the news of Marian's impending move and the utter clusterfuck of Pheus and Mahanon's on-set fistfight has been well-circulated throughout the Kirkwall crew. Varric managed to convince Merrill to let him interview her for all the "blood and guts details" after a few drinks, details that Marian is pretty certain are going to wind up in a New York Time's bestselling pulp novel over the next year or two.

"We're working it out with our lawyers," Marian sighs. "Alaine seriously wanting to go full scorched-earth after she found out what happened - seriously, never piss that woman off, if you value life or limb. Pheus's contract only covered the pilot anyway, we didn't sign any of the actors to a show deal, so we don't really owe him shit. It's more about what the network is gonna go for, and Solas Harel... I don't think he was ever super married to the idea of Pheus as Inquisitor anyway. Like he approved it, but it wasn't like, enthusiastic approval."

"I think I've met Harel before," says Varric thoughtfully. "He doesn't really go in for enthusiasm, does he? More of a 'brooding obsessive' type."

"Sounds about right. Either way, it looks like we're still on track for a studio move - probably January, that's the last I heard."

"We will miss you, you know," Aveline says quietly, nudging Marian under the table with her foot. "At least we get you for Christmas. You'll be back to visit, yes?"

"You'll definitely be able to afford it," Anders says, shrugging. "Blah blah, ridiculous amount of money sunk into the film industry, Hollywood one-percenters... I'm tired."

"'E' for effort?" says Garrett. 

"I'll have time off between seasons, if we get multiple seasons- fuck, if we get one season, things could still go fucky if New York decides they have a hard-on for Pheus after all," says Marian. "Sure I'll visit."

She pointedly ignores the sad look Garrett gives her, and takes another swig of her beer. Her twin's always been able to see through her bullshit. 

"To us, then, while we're here," Varric says, lifting his glass (the best scotch the Hanged Man has to offer, which isn't saying much). "The future is uncertain but hey, on the whole, could be worse."

"Could be worse," the others echo, lifting their glasses.

Marian follows suit, feeling hollow.  _But we're not all here, are we, Varric?_

Garrett starts a little halfway through his swig of cheap beer, and pulls his phone from his pocket with a frown. "Sorry, one sec - got a text."

"Fen?" Marian asks. 

"Anyone else who'd be texting him is already sitting here," Anders murmurs.

"I'll have you know I am  _extremely_ popular, and have  _loads_  of friends," Garrett says. "But, yeah. Sorry, gotta run."

"What about my intervention?" Marian says, as Garrett drains his glass and pulls a ten dollar bill from his pocket, slapping it on the table. "I don't feel 'intervented,' or whatever. Aren't you all supposed to read letters telling me how wonderful and disappointing I am?"

"Next time, I promise," Garrett says. "Unless the rest of you want to keep intervening while I'm gone...?"

All four left sitting at the table trade looks, then proceed to blow loud, wet raspberries at Garrett in response.

-

 

**To: GH**

Are you nearby? I was wondering if I might be able to get a ride from the café.

**From: GH**

omw now. everything ok?

**To: GH**

I am fine. Sorry - again, only if you're in the area.

 

**From: GH**

I'm pretty close, s'all good babe. always happy to pick up a handsome man downtown ;)

 

**To: GH**

That's..........interesting. 

 

**From: GH**

in retrospect I could have phrased that better

 

**To: GH**

Potentially, yes.

 

-

Garrett can tell something's up as he pulls up outside Hightown and watches Fenris emerge from the shadows of the closed shop, his hood up over his head and shoulders hunched. He visibly scans the sidewalk before walking out through the front door, head turning constantly to take in his surroundings as he locks up before quickly darting over to Garrett's car, all but throwing himself into the passenger seat. 

"Your place or mine?" Garrett asks, pulling out into the street. 

Fenris doesn't look at him, his hood still up. Garrett can only see a sliver of Fenris's frown in the passing lamplights, his lips tight. "Um. My place, I think."

"You're welcome to stay over-"

"No," says Fenris shortly. He winces. "Sorry, I- I'm not sure that's a good idea."

"Okay," says Garrett. He turns at the next set of lights, setting a course for Hastings. "Are you able to tell me what's going on?" 

Fenris turns his head to the window, but Garrett can still see a bit of his expression in the reflection of the curved glass. He can see the lines drawn between his dark brows, his large eyes cast downwards.  _Fuck, something's really wrong._

"It... it is very likely nothing," says Fenris quietly. Slowly. Garrett can hear the effort it takes to get the words out. "I thought- fuck." Fenris closes his eyes, grimacing. "I'm being paranoid, Garrett."

"Paranoid?"

"I thought I saw... someone I know. Knew. From before."

Garrett's hands tighten on the wheel, his heart sinking. "Your ex?"

"No," Fenris says quickly. Vehemently. "But maybe one of his... associates. As I said, I'm certain it was paranoia. It's been too long, they can't have- he can't have-"

Fenris's fist connects with the dashboard suddenly, startling Garrett with the hard  _thump._

"Fen..." Garrett says softly, not even knowing how he plans to follow up. Not knowing what he could possibly say.

"I'm sorry," Fenris says, placing his face in his hands, slumping forward. "I'm sorry. I'm not myself right now."

"It's okay," Garrett says. "Fen, it's fine. Hey, I can stay over tonight, if- I don't know, if you're looking for back-up, maybe?"

Fen huffs out a dry laugh, and the sound makes Garrett's heart ache. "I thought we decided long ago that you cannot protect me, Hawke."

Garrett bites his lip, because it hurts - it always hurts - to hear. Hurts to know. 

"I want you to feel safe," Garrett says. "It's- I don't think it's the same thing."

Fenris lifts his face, exhaustion in every angle of his posture, in every line of his expression, and Garrett briefly considers pulling over just to  _hold_  him. Just to hug him until some of that pain and fatigue fades away. Just to put something close to a smile on his face again.

"My place is a mess," Fenris says eventually, voice dull. 

"I don't care-"

"I do." Fenris folds his arms. "I'm a grown man who can't keep his house clean, Hawke, how is that not embarrassing?"

"I mean, you saw my place during exam season - twice," says Garrett. Fenris casts him an acerbic look. "Fen, if you want me to stay tonight, I will, happily. I understand about the mess, believe me, the whole executive dysfunction thing? I completely get it. It's no reflection on you."

Fenris watches him for another long moment. Looks away.

"Okay," he says. "Okay."

-

Garrett has never been over to Fenris's place.

He's seen the outside of it, once or twice - a low, bungalow-style house sort of slumped between two similarly ugly and abandoned-looking buildings set along a forgettable side street off Hastings, up the mountain a little ways. It's not hard to sense Fenris's tension as Garrett follows him along a cracked and jagged concrete path that leads around the back of the house and down a set of narrow concrete steps to a crooked door that features two sets of locks. Garrett doesn't comment, only puts his hand on Fenris's shoulder as he fumbles with his keys. Fenris tenses, then relaxes, leaning back into Garrett's touch a little. 

"Last chance," Fenris murmurs, a note of sincerity in his warning. 

"Not going anywhere, unless you want me to," says Garrett.

Fenris sighs, and nods, setting to work on the locks. "Ground rules, then: Try not to look at the kitchen area, and don't start cleaning. Seb does that every time he's over and I hate it."

"Noted," Garrett says. 

Fenris seems to take a moment, maybe to steel himself, then opens the door.

The first two things that strike Garrett about the place are how cold and dark it is - it's nearly impossible to see anything in the pitch black, and there's a shockingly significant temperature drop from the cool September night air to the downright frigidness of the basement suite. Garrett quickly spots the reason for this - the windows, surprisingly, are wide open, though they're covered in bug screens and what looks like chicken wire, of all things. 

Garrett glances back at Fenris, to find him fiddling with a home alarm system, keying in a punch code before turning back to the door to lock it up again - two locks and a deadbolt.

"Step away from the door, please," says Fenris. "I have to set up the alarm."

Garrett steps forward, toeing off his shoes and watching as Fenris returns to the keypad to arm the system. "Nice that you found a place with a home alarm."

Fenris shakes his head. "I set it up myself. It doesn't call anyone other than me if someone comes in."

"You programmed your own private alarm system?"

"It wasn't very hard."

"Better than anything I could do," Garrett says. He doesn't miss Fenris's slight smile at the praise, even in the darkness.

He takes another look around the place, now that his eyes have adjusted. It looks like a standard Hastings basement suite, honestly - the layout is familiar, with some kind of a kitchen unit to the left and what might pass as a combined kitchen and family area to his right. There's a table set there, with two mismatched chairs jammed up against it, the surface piled high with crumpled grocery bags, a few dishes, and a small pile of laundry. His quick glance at the kitchen isn't as bad as he's half-expecting - the sink is full and there's a haphazard stack of dishes next to it. Garrett suspects it would be worse if Fenris had more dishes than he seems to own; the cupboard doors are open, revealing nearly-bare shelves. The cold, fresh air blowing in from the windows largely mitigates whatever scent might be coming off the old dishes, but there's a constant, chilling damp smell that Garrett suspects is just what the basement suite smells of, no matter what might be in it. 

Fenris brushes past him, crossing the floor in a few quick strides and poking his head around a corridor past the kitchen table. He grimaces at whatever he sees, but beckons for Garrett to follow.

Garrett picks his way across the dark room, relieved when Fenris disappears around the corner and seems to flip some kind of switch, causing light to pour out from the corridor. Garrett follows the light and finds himself in a small bedroom, largely taken up by a half-made bed. Fenris stands to one side of it, kicking clothes into a largely empty closet - again, Garrett suspects the mess would be larger if he had more clothes, or more of anything, really. There are a few empty tea mugs on the floor to either side of the head of the bed, and the  _Prisoner of Azkaban_  sits atop a beat-up copy of  _The Goblet of Fire_  on the mattress itself, a bookmark stuck in near the last few pages. With an oddly happy little ache, Garrett notices one of his own shirts in a heap on top of Fenris's pillow. 

"Please ignore the mess," Fenris says, his voice tight with clear embarrassment. "There's a washroom across the hall - let me just... check what state it's in."

"Fen, it's-" Garrett starts, but Fenris is already gone.

Not really sure where else to go or what to do, Garrett takes a careful seat on the bed. There's only a single boxspring underneath it, so it's very low to the ground, but the worn cotton sheets feel comfortable enough. 

It doesn't really feel like a home, this place. There's nothing on the walls, no bookshelves, no TV in the corner with DVDs or games lying about. A quick glance inside the open closet door, and Garrett can see a duffle bag and a suitcase leaning up against the back wall. Garrett has a sneaking suspicion that if Fenris wanted, he could pack everything he owns in those two bags and be out the door in less than half an hour, not counting the dishes. 

The only real personal items Garrett sees aside from clothes are a small off-brand laptop tucked in the corner, a phone charger, and a spiral-bound notebook - not a fancy one, like Varric's constant supply of moleskines, but a cheap dollar-store workbook not too dissimilar from what Garrett's students might bring to class. Beside that, two half-full orange bottles of little white pills. A closer look at the floor shows a scattering of empty bottles tucked under old receipts and in dark forgotten corners.

Garrett lies back against the pillows, only to start forward as something hard presses into the small of his back. Frowning, he sits back up and reaches behind himself, pulling out what for one wild moment Garrett thinks might be a weighted, leather-wrapped vibrator. 

Then he squeezes the button on the side, and a six-inch blade flips up from the handle, nearly catching Garrett's nose.

"Shit," says Garrett, only to hear the word echo from the door. He looks up to see Fenris staring at him from the doorway, eyes wide.

"Sorry," Fenris says, shutting the door behind him and quickly securing it (two locks on the bedroom door - one in the handle, and another deadbolt) before rushing over to the bed and taking the blade that Garrett offers him. "I thought- I forgot that was there." 

"It's okay," says Garrett, for what feels like the fifth time tonight. It doesn't seem to be helping much. "Look, some guys have teddy bears, some have switchblades. Whatever works, you know?"

Fenris folds the switchblade up without a word, placing it to the side of his bed (close, within reach). 

There's an awkward silence that follows, and in the stillness Garrett feels an awful disconnect; two men, nearly thirty, sitting on a low-slung mattress in a cheap basement suite surrounded by an overwhelming  _lack._  So much of Fenris and so little lies scattered around this place, something messy and utterly temporary in every nook and cranny. 

Garrett wants to take Fenris out of here, out of the damp chill and the blank grey walls, the rigged-up home alarm and improvised chicken wire on the windows. It feels like a prison.

But part of this... well, part of this place is very much  _Fenris._  Some part of what Garrett is seeing, some part of what this is all about, lies deeply rooted in the parts of Fenris that Garrett has to remind himself to see. Has to remind himself not to ignore for the sake of a prettier picture.

He looks at Fenris, and it's not very romantic, the stiffness between them - Fenris's embarrassment, Garrett's inability to read his mind and understand what could drive someone to live this way. Stripped down from the way Garrett feels and how his heart flips at the sight of Fenris, bare for scrutiny, the crux of the problem: Two very different people from almost laughably different worlds, sitting on an unmade bed and trying to make things work. 

It's not romantic. It's almost very nearly loveless - not that Garrett loves Fenris any less, but that the chasm between them seems so wildly impassable that the idea of love just seems utterly irrelevant. It doesn't feel like fate any more; or at least, not right now. 

Fenris looks up at him, less than a foot away and from across a gap wider than the fucking Grand Canyon, and Garrett can see- fuck, he can see, he thinks, what Fenris is expecting. There's something resigned in his face, like he's expecting Garrett to get up and leave, without another word. Fenris wouldn't stop him. It would all be so horrifically quiet.

There's no sudden epiphany, no burst of heart and swell of strings. Just the one thing left to every person when fate steps out of the room: A choice.

Garrett reaches across the endless chasm between them, and takes Fenris's hand. 

"I used to be homeless," says Fenris. "For over half a year. I was living on the streets, half-dead when Seb found me. You might have walked past me and never noticed."

Maybe Garrett should be surprised, but he isn't. Some part of him had always assumed, maybe- or maybe it just fits in with what he knows of Fenris. All those dark, unfilled corners of the half-blank map that's Fenris's past. 

"I'm glad Seb was able to help you, Fen," says Garrett. 

Fenris nods, and the moment is still so fucking uncertain. So oddly empty, colourless and fucked and unhappy.

"I love you," says Garrett. 

Fenris physically jerks, almost as if he's been burned, but he doesn't pull away. He just stares at Garrett, lips parted and speechless.

"You don't have to say it back," Garrett says. "It's just something I think you have a right to know, that's all. I really love you."

Fenris's grip on Garrett's hand tightens, like he's about to be swept away from some sudden current and Garrett's the only thing anchoring him to shore, and he still doesn't say anything. Garrett knows he won't say anything. Maybe he can't, yet, and that's fine.

Garrett leans over and presses a firm kiss to Fenris's snowy hair, and it's not how Garrett imagined this moment might go, but it feels right. Despite everything, it feels alright. 

(Fenris is shivering, and Garrett knows it's not from the cold). 

"So anyway, do you want the knife under the pillow, or is beside the bed okay?" asks Garrett, and Fenris barks a sudden, awkward laugh in response.

"B-beside the bed is... fine," Fenris says, his voice a little hoarse. 

"Okay," says Garrett. 

He wraps Fenris up in blankets, and Fenris lets him, still staring at Garrett from time to time with an expression that Garrett can't for the life of him read, but he doesn't have to. It's not important for him to know right now. If Fenris needs time to figure out what Garrett's words mean for him, if he needs the space, Garrett can wait. 

Garrett falls asleep that night in an unfamiliar bed, with a perfect stranger wrapped up in his shirt, in his arms, and it's never felt less or more like home.

-

The next morning he wakes up in an empty bed, and given the conversation of the night before, it scares the absolute shit out of him until he sees that Fenris's clothes are still scattered around the room, the books stacked to one side and the laptop in the corner.

Garrett rolls over and hears an odd metallic clinking, mingled with the unmistakable sound of crumpling paper. He sits up to find he's rolled over a set of keys, and a note.

 

_Alarm code is 080311._

_Yours, Fenris_

 

_-_

 

**To: The Bae** (Draft)

I'm really s

 

**To: The Bae, Maybe** (Draft)

I'm just checking in to see that you're ok and

 

**To: The Ex, Probably** (Draft)

Just making sure you're not fucking dead, and I know this is all my fau

 

**To: Asshole** (Draft)

You know you're not exactly dealing with this in an adult and mature way eith

 

**To: Bela** (Draft)

I miss you

 

**[Draft Deleted]**

 

-

 

**To: Fen <3**

so by this point I'm thinking that maybe something horrible has happened in this poor kid's life cause he keeps looking down at his phone and up at us and he's got this expression on his face of just like... pure agony

 

**From: Fen <3**

Was it because you made one of your puns?

 

**To: Fen <3**

ha ha v funny but no, so yeah, looks up finally and just goes "hey I know it's the fourth week and everything but um......I think I've been in the wrong class like this whole time"

 

**From: Fen <3**

Oh fuck

 

**To: Fen <3**

sure enough we check the guy's schedule and he's not even taking WL1102-02, he's just missed a month of SOCI1101-02.

 

**From: Fen <3**

....How??

 

**To: Fen <3**

he got the rooms mixed up and tbh he didn't exactly pay attention much during tutorial until today

 

**From: Fen <3**

Did you laugh at him

 

**To: Fen <3**

????no because I'm not a monster?????

 

**From: Fen <3**

I would have laughed at him

 

**To: Fen <3 **(Draft)

I know >:[ and yet I love you anyw

 

Garrett pauses.

It's only been a few days since that odd night in Fenris's basement suite. They haven't talked about what was said, really, and Fenris hasn't mentioned seeing any ghosts from his past hovering around the café. It feels in some ways like it never even happened. 

But Garrett knows it did. He knows Fenris knows. There's something new in how Fenris looks at him sometimes, sidelong when he thinks Garrett doesn't see him, something confused and maybe a little concerned but not upset. Not closed-off and caged the way Fenris often holds himself. He's working through it, trying to piece together how Garrett's love fits in all this, in his reality, and Garrett is happy to give him the time to do that. He doesn't sign his texts "with love from," and he doesn't hurt when Fenris doesn't say it back. They have time.

But by God, since that night his father's Claddagh ring has been burning a hole in his fucking jacket pocket where it's been sitting for months now. It's still not the right time. The whole "I love you" thing might have taken Garrett by surprise, might have been a strange glue to hold him and Fenris together during a rough night, but he wants this ring to mean something  _happy_. He thinks of Fenris, covered head-to-toe in bad memories, white lines of ghost ink from a shitty past, and he just wants to give Fenris something good. Something that shines. 

Giving Fenris good memories. It's a cause that Garrett is willing to dedicate himself to. Which gives him an idea.

He leans forward in his office chair, well aware that he's ignoring grading essays and answering e-mails to text his boyfriend like an unprofessional asshole, and really not giving a shit. 

 

**To: Fen <3**

I know >:[ and yet I find you utterly charming regardless

 

**From: Fen <3 **

Hmm. What a power I seem to wield. 

 

**To: Fen <3**

you'd better use it for good instead of evil, young padawan. obi wan is watchign!!

 

**To: Fen <3**

also hey do u have this weekend off

 

**From: Fen <3**

Obi-Wan was a liar, and yes, shockingly. I think Flissa feels bad for scheduling me for all the closing shifts. 

 

**To: Fen <3**

woooooo yay road trip!!? you've never been to whistler right 

 

**From: Fen <3**

I have not. I also do not ski. Or snowboard.

 

**To: Fen <3**

u don't have to!! the village is pretty af and there are like, hot tubs and nature and restaurants and shit. the glass elevator!!

 

**From: Fen <3**

The Glass Elevator?

 

**To: Fen <3**

candy shop!! we used to go there all the time as wee babs - it's wild, u can get uk candy there and shit. but seriously whistler is gorgeous in fall, all the leaves will be turning...

 

**From: Fen <3**

Hmm

 

**To: Fen <3**

...we can have hot hotel sex??

 

**From: Fen <3**

Sold

 

**To: Fen <3**

YASSSSSSSS

 

**From: Fen <3**

Unsold. Never "yass" at me again.

 

**To: Fen <3**

:(((( 

 

**From: Fen <3**

**> :|**

 

**To: Fen <3**

I apologize profusely for the unsolicited "yass" can we please still go to whistler and have hot hotel sex like maybe in a jacuzzi?

 

**From: Fen <3**

Tentatively sold, entirely dependent on your ability to contain your cringeworthy colloquialisms over the next 24hrs. 

 

**To: Fen <3**

I'll behave myself

 

**From: Fen <3**

Well you don't have to go that far.

 

**To: Fen <3**

;)

 

Garrett is still smiling as his phone buzzes, a little e-mail symbol popping up in the top left corner. He sighs.  _I really should get back to work._

He puts his phone down and opens his laptop, glancing at the clock in the corner of the screen.  _8.30._   _Fenris should be getting off soon._

Garrett's thinking about Fenris, thinking about asking him to stay the night so they can get an early start tomorrow morning, seeing Fenris's face in his mind's eye and imagining taking him through the cobbled streets of Whistler Village, imagining him smiling in an early autumn sunset, some of that constant frown and worry eased from his face... he's thinking about all this as he opens his e-mail, so the subject line of the message he just received doesn't really register at first.

After all, he's already thinking about Fenris. So it doesn't strike him the way it should, seeing his name on the screen. Not at first.

Then it hits him, what he's looking at. What he's reading. And all thoughts of Whistler Village in September are immediately fucking obliterated from his mind.

 

**From:**  hadriana.duerden@imperiumindustries.com 

**Subject:** MIRANI, Leto (a.k.a. AWAN, Fenris) - **MISSING PERSON, EXTREMELY DANGEROUS TO HIMSELF AND OTHERS*

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HA HA HAAAA WELP TOLD YOU GUYS SHIT WAS GONNA HIT THE FAN HAAAAAAAA  
> (it's really late here rn I haven't stayed up this late in a while)
> 
> FIRST OF ALL CHAPTER NOTES:  
> \- so okay writing Fenris's basement suite got weirdly extremely emotional for me because like... I've basically lived that life, though less with the multiple locks and paranoia but more with the "I have used every dish in my pantry and have resorted to eating on disposable plates from work because I don't have the mental energy to keep this shit clean" and it was way more exhausting and depressing to return to that mentally than I thought it would be so that part just hurt in ways I wasn't expecting  
> \- THE I LOVE YOU BOMB DROPPED AND I ALSO WASN'T EXPECTING THAT. Basically it didn't happen where I wanted it to happen in the narrative, but I think it happened where it needed to happen? I really hope that scene made sense to people because I don't know if I could convey this weirdly important thing that suddenly cropped up in terms of like... how Garrett sees Fenris, and vice versa. IDK I HOPE IT WORKED  
> \- I want to extend an apology to Susan Duerden who I'm sure is a lovely lady, but just so happened to be Hadriana's VA and I needed a surname so........  
> \- also HSG is gonna get??? a little dark from here on for a bit as we come to the Main Plot Movement of Holy Shit Sort of the Climax?? lord guys
> 
> WHICH BRINGS ME TO A THING  
> *breathes*  
> So I'm worried about making this announcement because I'm worried about promising things and not following through I mean isn't that the fear of any WIP but we really are getting into the Shit now and I'm rambling what I'm trying to say is: I'm going to do something potentially insane.
> 
> I'm gonna try to podfic this motherfucker.
> 
> When I was in the Merlin fandom, one of my favourite fics of all time, The Student Prince, was lovingly crafted into an epic podfic by the author. I've listened to it a million times probably, and it's still really important to me as a story. I want to be able to give that kind of gift as well. This also means y'all get to hear my voice, which...lord, I wrote sex scenes in this monster, what am I signing myself up for.
> 
> I also know that some of you really like these long rambling notes at the ends of the chapters so I was thinking of doing a version without and a version with the notes added in? Is that something people would be interested in? Idek I'm getting way ahead of myself.
> 
> I'm also thinking of commissioning a book cover for this monster (I'm pretty sure there's a way to make it so it shows up as the cover for ao3 ePub downloads? idk I'm tired) and I'd ideally like to commission an artist who has read the story so if you're interested maybe hmu? I'm always available for yelling at foxnonny.tumblr.com
> 
> Okay I'm tired and this chapter was WEIRDLY EMOTIONALLY EXHAUSTING SO I'M GONNA POST AND SLEEP. Thank you for constantly inspiring me to keep this going, and for all just being wonderful beyond words. I love you all and I hope this chapter delivered and I hope the cliffhanger only eats at you a little bit until the next chapter comes out <3
> 
> -OH FINAL NOTE: the Glass Elevator in Whistler is incredible 10/10 would recommend.


	31. Inglorious Backstory 3: This Time It's Personal

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is another one of those chapters I've planned since the dawn of time, so eyy. 
> 
> MAJOR content warning on this chapter for like... everything that Fenris's canon backstory has, plus a HEAVY dose of gaslighting. 
> 
> (Also for anyone who questions dates/ages... remember this story is still taking place in 2016! Which I had to remind myself about because I got real confused for a bit as I was referring back to my notes.)

**From:** hadriana.duerden@imperiumindustries.com

 **Subject:** MIRANI, Leto (a.k.a. AWAN, Fenris) - **MISSING PERSON, EXTREMELY DANGEROUS TO HIMSELF AND OTHERS**

Garrett Hawke,

You likely have never heard of me, and if you have, the stories may not have been entirely flattering. This is a difficult e-mail to write, and one that you may find difficult believe. I only ask, if you care for Fenris at all, that you read this through and come to your own conclusions after considering the evidence presented.

Fenris may or may not have mentioned, but he suffered significant head trauma at seventeen years old, and has never fully recovered. He suffers from retrograde amnesia primarily, but the trauma has also impacted several of his mental faculties. You might have noticed that he neither reads nor writes, and may have exhibited some paranoid and even violent behaviour. Two years ago, these delusions drove him to leave the safety of his hotel room on a trip to Montreal, and we have been desperately searching for him ever since.

I work for Fenris's legal guardian, Daniel Stanton, a friend of Fenris's family who generously took Fenris into his care after his injury. He is anxious to get Fenris home as soon as possible, and has allocated a great amount of personal resources to finding Fenris without involving the authorities, hoping not to distress Fenris any further. He was overjoyed to hear that after almost a year without any word, Fenris had been located in the city of Vancouver, BC. 

I have come to the city myself to confirm that Fenris is here, but I'm concerned my presence might have triggered his paranoia. I hope to speak to him tonight, and am also hoping you might help to facilitate the conversation. He seems to trust you. 

I understand this is a lot to take on faith, so in Fenris's interest I have attached the medical reports and a scan of his signed guardianship documents so you can see that he consented to make Dan his legal guardian years ago, and that this was supported by the State. Please e-mail me if you have any questions about these documents. 

I promise that no matter what you might have heard, we only want what is best for Fenris. We cannot imagine the trauma the last two years might have brought him, or who he might have hurt due to his condition. Please help us bring Fenris home.

Sincerely,

Hadriana Duerden

Chief Assistant, Imperium Industries

[Attached:  **Mirani_2007.pdf** ]

[Attached:  **LM-DS_GuardianDoc2011.zip** ]

[Attached:  **LMMissingPerson2014.png** ]

 

Garrett can't move. Can't even really breathe.

He can't help but think, at first, that this might all be some enormous misunderstanding, or a sick joke. This all evaporates when he sees the document preview at the bottom of the page for the "missing persons" picture. Even in the thumbnail, it's impossible not to know what he's looking at.

Who he's looking at.

His hair is shorter, his face harder in some areas, softer in others, but it's absolutely, undeniably Fenris.

_It looks like a mugshot._

He almost clicks on the attachment without thinking, so badly needing to  _know_ , needing to see the proof, needing to find something to make sense of everything Fenris has told him in this new context. But he can't. Even now, he knows Fenris would never forgive him for violating his privacy, his  _past_ , like this.

Still, he can't help but scan back over the e-mail, again and again, noting with dread where parts of it line up with what he already knows, or  _thinks_  he already knows.

"...paranoid and even violent behaviour..."

" _I'm being paranoid, Garrett... I'm sorry, I'm not myself right now..._ "

"...suffers from retrograde amnesia..."

" _I don't remember my life from before I was seventeen years old..._ "

The phrase that catches Garrett, again and again, is "legal guardian." He'd always assumed Fenris was running from a psychotic ex, not... Fenris  _said_  he was running from an ex, hadn't he?

"...he consented to make Dan his legal guardian years ago..."

" _I was never given a choice._ "

Garrett feels utterly sick. 

It eventually hits him, far too fucking slow on the uptake, what this entire fucking e-mail is telling him: This woman knows where Fenris is, and she's planning to confront him.

Tonight.

Garrett checks the time, and without another glance, slams his laptop closed and throws everything into his bag.

-

The drive down Hastings is painful as Garrett curses out every red light and construction-induced slowdown, weaving through traffic like every douchebag he's ever hated on the roads but he doesn't care. He tries not to think on the e-mail, tries not to speculate - the important thing is getting to Fenris before this "Hadriana" does. Everything else... it can all fucking wait. 

Finding parking in Gastown is another circle of hell in and of itself, but he gets lucky and tucks himself into a tiny spot on a one-way street, barely more than an alley. He throws himself out of the car and can't be fucked with the meter, sprinting for Hightown. It's already 9.30.  _The café be closing soon._

Sure enough, he sees Fenris ushering out the last few customers as he rounds the corner at top speed, nearly taking out a posh-looking woman in a pencil skirt and shouting his apologies over his shoulder. Fenris looks up at the sound of his voice, frowning as Garrett peals up to the door and follows him back into the café. 

"What's going on?" Fenris asks, as Garrett lets the door swing shut behind him. 

"I-" Garrett swallows, trying to catch his breath. Some part of him thought he'd be too late, that Fenris would be gone by the time he got here, and it occurs to him that he honestly has no idea what to say. "Fen, there's- I got this e-mail-"

The sentence comes to a grinding halt as Fenris is visibly distracted by something behind Garrett, and his expression changes fucking  _drastically._ His eyes widen, lips fall open in shock, and in an instant his complexion pales to a sickly grey. 

Garrett turns around at the sound of the door opening, and sees the pencil-skirt woman from earlier step into the shop.

For a wild moment, he thinks she's come to ream him out for nearly body-slamming her into the pavement during his frantic sprint here. But no, she barely spares him a second glance, her clear blue eyes quickly darting past him to find Fenris.

There's a flash of something ugly on her face - she looks triumphant, almost, utterly cold. Then the look is replaced with a gentle sincerity, and Garrett wonders if he wasn't just imagining things.

"Hello, Fenris," she says softly; kindly, even. "It's so good to see you."

Garrett looks over his shoulder to see Fenris step back, visibly recoiling, his face a mask of shock that quickly gives way to mounting anger. He can't seem to speak.

"I take it you got my message," the woman - Hadriana, Garrett assumes - says, prompting him to turn back to face her. She smiles warmly at him. "I'm so glad. Having you here will make things so much easier."

Garrett hears a sharp intake of breath from behind him. It sounds almost pained.

"It's alright, Fenris," Hadriana says, stepping forward. "I told him everything. We're both just here to help you-"

" _Don't come near me_."

Garrett's never heard Fenris sound like this. He's heard anger, frustration, but never rage.

He's heard uncertainty, doubt, but never fear.

"I'm here for Fenris, not you," Garrett says, stepping back until he's almost in line with Fenris, slightly ahead, wishing he could shield him but knowing Fenris wouldn't appreciate it. "I don't know what the fuck is going on, quite honestly."

There's another flicker across Hadriana's face, a momentary frustration paired with that cold look again, but as before it's gone as quickly as it comes, and her brows lift in apparent sympathy. 

"I imagine it's very confusing, I don't know what Fenris has told you," Hadriana says, clasping her hands together. "But you had to have seen the paperwork- Fenris is very sick-"

"You bitch," Fenris says, cold rage clipping his words as he moves forward. "Keep talking, I  _swear_ -"

Garrett sees Fenris's clenched fists and reacts without thinking, grabbing Fenris's shoulder and pulling him back. "Fen,  _stop._ "

Fenris freezes, looking back at Garrett, and it breaks Garrett in two to see the look of sheer betrayal on Fenris's face, the uncertainty in his eyes.

"You don't know what you're saying, Fenris," Hadriana says sadly. "You can't carry on this way, you knowthat. Don't you want to come home?"

Fenris's eyes don't leave Garrett's. 

"Please," is all he says. Barely whispers it.

Garrett looks at Fenris. Looks at Hadriana. 

He lets Fenris go.

Fenris closes the space between himself and Hadriana quickly, and for a horrible moment Garrett is sure he's made the wrong choice, certain that Fenris is going to hurt this woman, knowing that he absolutely  _could_. The look of sudden fear on Hadriana's face seems to suggest that she expects Fenris to do something along those lines, that she might have gravely miscalculated things. 

However, Fenris stops when he's toe-to-toe with her, staring her down despite her few inches on him, and his fists remain at his side. 

"Does he know I'm here?" Fenris asks flatly.

Hadriana blinks, her congenial smile gone as her eyes flick down to Fenris's scarred and crooked fists, and back up again.

"Of course he knows," she says, her voice losing its gentle quality and acquiring a hard edge. 

"More to the point, does he know  _you're_  here?" Fenris asks. She hesitates, and Garrett can hear the cold smile in Fenris's voice as he continues. "I didn't think so. Still trying to be his perfect little lapdog after all this time? How you must have dreamed of dragging me back to him-"

"You're delusional, Fenris," Hadriana says, eyes narrowing. "You need help. After everything Dan has done for you-"

Fenris barks a hard laugh, not a trace of humour in it. "First name basis now? Things  _really_  must have changed since I left."

"-after everything Dan has done for you, after everything he's given your  _family_ ," Hadriana says, her mouth quirking into what can only be described as a smirk, "you repay his kindness like this?"

"I don't want his 'kindness,' and I don't want your 'help,'" Fenris says. "I want to be left alone."

"You're too sick to be left alone, you know that," Hadriana says, but her attempt at sympathy now sounds simpering, the words mocking. "You know you need to be  _watched._ "

"I'm not sick," says Fenris.

"I don't believe you," says Hadriana. "No one would believe you."

Fenris sags, just for a moment. Just enough that Garrett can see how much this last taunt hurts him.

"Think what you want," Fenris says, squaring his shoulders and lifting his chin. "Did you really think I'd cave so easily and go back with you? You were wrong. Tell Dan that I know he knows where I am now, if you dare. I doubt he'll appreciate you giving me advanced warning."

"Don't make me make this difficult," Hadriana snaps. "You're in this country illegally, I could call the police and tell them-"

"If you could do that, you would have done it already," says Garrett, folding his arms. "And if you were worried about Fenris the way you say you are, you would have filed a missing persons report in Canada years ago."

Hadriana cuts a glare over Fenris's shoulder, eyes piercing into Garrett's. "It was in Fenris's best interest not to, as I explained, giving how easily he's  _distressed-_ "

"Bullshit," say Fenris and Garrett in unison.

Hadriana looks from Fenris to Garrett and back again, lip curling in a silent snarl of frustration.

"I wouldn't trust this man, Garrett," Hadriana says, staring down at Fenris. "You don't know what he's capable of-"

"I think you should leave," says Garrett. 

Hadriana steps back, her eyes still fixed to Fenris's face. 

"Your sister misses you, Fenris," Hadriana says. Fenris stiffens. "You remember Varania, don't you? Dan has been taking such good care of her on your behalf... I wouldn't like to think what would happen to her if his support were to disappear."

Fenris is silent, and Hadriana smiles.

"Just something to think about," says Hadriana. She turns on her heel and leaves, the door swinging shut with a resounding clatter that resonates through the utterly silent café.

Fenris is the first to move, quickly darting forward to lock the door. He leans against it, all the strength and resolve he'd exhibited only moments before seeming to leave him in a flood, leaving him slumped and shaking. 

"Fenris-" Garrett starts.

Fenris whips around, an eerie look of panicked anger in his narrowed eyes as he advances.

"What did she send you?" Fenris says sharply, hands forming into tight fists again. "What message, what- what  _documents-?_ "

"Fen-"

"I should have- God, I've been so  _fucking_  stupid-"

"Fenris-"

"-of course they found me, of course I could never- of course they would-"

" _Fenris._ "

Fenris is barely inches away from Garrett now, stopped dead in his tracks by Garrett's tone- sharp and loud, like a crack of thunder. Garrett's not sure he's ever heard himself sound like that.

_I sounded like Dad._

Fenris stares up at him, then turns away with a long hiss. He throws himself into one of the empty café chairs, raking a hand through his hair. 

Garrett takes a breath, just a short moment to breathe, then comes and sits in the chair opposite Fenris. He pulls out his phone under Fenris's keen stare, and finds Hadriana's e-mail. Opens it.

"I didn't look through the attachments," Garrett says, offering the phone to Fenris. Fenris snatches it, narrowing his eyes as he scans through the message, brow furrowing. Garrett watches Fenris's gaze jump across the screen and back again, looking increasingly frustrated as he tries to read it. Garrett's well aware that offering to read it aloud for Fenris would probably end very badly for him, so he sits quietly and waits for Fenris to finish.

Fenris's lips move as he works his way through sentences, and there's something acutely painful about watching Fenris mouth the words "violent behaviour," "delusions," and "paranoia." He finally finishes, closes his eyes, and passes the phone back to Garrett, who takes it without a word.

"So?" Fenris asks, his voice something of a croak as he opens his eyes again, levelling a hard look at Garrett. "Now that you know, what do you plan to do?"

Garrett blinks. "Fenris, I don't know anything - I literally don't know  _anything."_

"I thought she explained things fairly clearly," Fenris says, his voice wretchedly toneless. "I'm insane, a danger to others, and my kindly guardian has come to fetch me home again."

"You think I  _believe_ that?"

"Why wouldn't you?" 

Garrett can't speak. For a moment, he can't form a single fucking word.

Then an anger, a  _disappointment_  he's never felt before hits him, slams into him like a fucking tsunami. He doesn't even know who he's angry with; Fenris, this Hadriana woman, himself, maybe all three. Probably all three. It really doesn't matter.

"How do you not  _get_  it?" Garrett says, hearing the heat in his voice and utterly unable to temper it, even as he sees Fenris flinch back. "Fuck- Fenris, I'm  _on your side._  I have  _always_ been on your side. Do you think this fucking changes anything?"

"It should," says Fenris, his own anger showing, though his seems more rooted in confusion than Garrett's hurt. "It  _should._ What kind of person can be shown proof that his boyfriend is a deluded monster and doesn't  _care?_ "

"Of course I care!" says Garrett, rubbing a hand over his face. "Of course I fucking  _care_. That doesn't mean- damn it, I  _love_  you, Fenris."

" _I don't know what that means_ ," says Fenris - shouts it, actually, gripping the table like he's about to flip it. "More to the point, I don't think  _you_ know what that means. You can't love someone you don't fucking know."

"Then  _explain!_ " Garrett cries. "You keep saying I don't know you, I keep telling you I'm here either way, and I  _mean_  that. I'm not going to leave unless you ask me to. You think I'm missing something? Then help me the fuck out and tell me what I'm missing, and don't assume it's going to drive me off, or that I'm going to betray you, because it won't and  _I won't._ "

Fenris stares at Garrett for a long moment, then stands with a snarl, knocking his chair over.

"Do you want a fucking tea?" Fenris snaps. 

"I'd fucking love one," Garrett hurls back. 

" _Fine_ ," says Fenris, and stalks off towards the bar.

It turns out that the precise amount of time it takes to make two cups of jasmine green tea is equivalent to the amount of time it takes for two men to calm the fuck down, at least a little bit. Garrett feels markedly more composed by the time Fenris returns, and though Fenris does slam the cups down a bit hard, he looks far less likely to flip the table than he did previously.

"Thank you," Garrett says tersely.

Fenris nods.

They drink their tea, exchanging twin winces as they both burn themselves on the first sip. 

"My mother was Dan Stanton's housecleaner," says Fenris.

Garrett shakes his head, leaning forward. "You don't have to-"

" _Don't_ ," says Fenris, and Garrett retreats. "My mother was Dan Stanton's housecleaner - we weren't in New York, initially, but I don't remember where we were before that. Dan never told me... everything before him is a blur, so I've had to rely on his testimony. 

"Apparently my sister Varania found me outside his building one day - a mugging gone wrong, or a beating from a local gang, we never found out. She was young - maybe ten or eleven. I was unconscious. Dan took me to the hospital, where he  _graciously_  took care of all medical bills - being in a coma for two months adds up, and we were far from wealthy. Apparently he felt so guilty that I'd been attacked outside his building that he offered to take me on, to have me privately educated and employed within his company, and even offered to provide financial assistance to the family - Varania's post-secondary education, especially."

Fenris looks up from his tea, eyes bitterly sad.

"He  _bought_  me. Not that my mother must have had much of a choice - I was still in dire need of medical assistance that she couldn't afford, and the opportunity to give both her children a life of education and employment? She must have jumped at the chance.

"I remember bits and pieces of those first few months, that first year... not very much. I remember being in and out of the hospital; brain scans, medication, forms, and Dan beside me for all of it. The benevolent benefactor, as he no doubt seemed. He must have been in his mid-forties at the time, making strides in the company, on a fast track to the top. We moved to New York."

Fenris clasps his hands together, his mouth a thin line.

"It wasn't long after we moved that he took me to bed for the first time," Fenris says.

"Jesus," says Garrett, unable to choke back his visceral reaction at the statement.

Fenris closes his eyes. "I don't remember it. Just the next morning... I was in his bed, and he- it doesn't matter. I knew how much I owed him, how much he'd done for me and my family. I thought it made sense, at the time.

"It fades in and out, everything kind of blurs together... when I was stronger, he had me learn to fight - he wanted to make me into something, I think. He used to tell his business partners that I could take any one of their bodyguards in the ring, pit us against each other like fucking gladiators, and after a while I would win every time. It was entertainment for them.  _I_ was entertainment. All these rich, untouchable people... they could do whatever they wanted with me. Anything Dan  _allowed._

"He paid for these," Fenris says, thrusting his arms forward, the white lines carved into his skin looking far more like scars than tattoos, now. "I didn't question it. I didn't question his ownership of me. He told me again and again how lucky I was, how I was too stupid, too brain-damaged to live outside of him, and I believed it. I believed every word.

"In his twisted way, I think he did 'love' me - the way someone might love a dog, or a trophy. Hadriana was barely more than a secretary back then, but she worshipped Dan. Hated me for how much attention Dan paid me, and how little he paid her. Made my life hell whenever she could, which wasn't often - Dan took me with him wherever he went. No one questioned any of it; no one cared.

"Then one night in 2013, there was a raid on Dan's penthouse - he didn't exactly conduct his business cleanly, no one in Imperium does. I was there, but Dan was not. He was given head's up by someone in the department, and he left the city before they could catch him. Left me behind. I was arrested.

"Dan had long since given me a new name - Fenris. I had no documentation on me, and I knew better than to speak. I just waited for Dan to come and collect me... but he never showed up.

"The detectives working on the case were determined to take down Dan and his associates, and knew that I could provide essential information that could help them. They were... kind, to me. They told me that Dan was an evil man, that they knew the kinds of things him and his circle of friends were doing - human trafficking, illegal arms dealing, never mind what they got up to during their personal time. They treated me like an intelligent human being; I'd never been spoken to like that before.

"It took nearly a month, but I eventually caved. I told them everything - how Dan used me, how his friends used me, the places they would frequent and the people they colluded with. They had a witness - they just needed me to testify.

"Then Dan came back."

Fenris clasps the cup of tea in his hands, looking utterly pained. 

"I don't know the specifics - I wish I did. They told me I was safe from him, that if he ever came back he'd be arrested immediately, but somehow he just... walked through all that. He didn't even ask what I'd told them - he just showed someone higher up some paperwork." Fenris looks up, the dark circles under his eyes pronounced in the overhead light of the café. "That guardianship package that Hadriana sent you, with my signature at the bottom - I don't remember signing it, I don't know if it was forged or if... it doesn't matter. It declared me legally incapable of rational thought, brain-damaged,  _delusional._  It was an easy story to swallow - I was Dan's charity case, making things up - maybe not  _maliciously_ , maybe the ideas had been planted in my mind by the detectives, maybe I was coerced, so easily manipulated. 

"If I'd stuck to my story, held my ground, we might have had a chance, the detectives and I. But there was a private court hearing to sort all this shit out, and Dan's lawyer looked at me on the stand: 'Go on, Fenris,  _tell the truth._ ' Dan was sitting right behind him, staring at me,  _smiling_ , and I knew he was going to win. I knew the detectives couldn't do anything to him.

"I said I was confused, that the detectives told me that he'd done all those things to me, when I only ever remembered him being kind. The case was thrown out, and within the day I was back in Dan's custody. I don't know what happened to those detectives, but I doubt they were employed for very much longer. They didn't look angry in the court room... they looked sorry. Sorry for  _me._

"I paid for my 'disloyalty' for weeks - it was always paired with Dan's affection, how sorry he was that he  _had_  to hurt me,  _had_  to drug me, had to do all this because I couldn't be trusted otherwise, but he was so grateful to have me back. It was different this time, though. Before I would have done anything to regain his trust, his love. Now, I knew it was wrong - what he was doing to me was wrong. It was a thought I couldn't shake, no matter what he said and did. 

"I knew I had to act like I'd succumbed to his sway again, if I ever had a chance of escaping him. I played his loyal pet; I did everything I could to convince him I was his. It was the hardest few months of my life - fighting the urge to truly cave to his will, fighting the urge to vomit when he touched me, to try to run at the wrong time. Finally we went to Montreal, and I knew I had my chance." Fenris grins, suddenly lit with savage pride. "He never should have taught me how to fight.

"I stole five thousand dollars in cash from the safe in his hotel room. I waited until he was asleep, and I slipped away - I thought about killing him there and then, but... I didn't. Maybe I should have, I don't know. There were hired guards in the main room of his suite - they were easy, I'd fought greater odds before. I managed to keep it quiet. I could barely believe it when I got to the street - I was  _free._

"I didn't stop moving for months - any time I felt one of his people on my tail, I changed cities. Five thousand dollars can last a while if you aren't picky where you sleep or what you eat. I stole what I had to, dyed my hair, shaved my head - anything to avoid notice. But the tattoos stand out - I was far too easy to find. It was only by some miracle that I eventually managed to lose him. By that point I was exhausted, completely out of money, so I wound up where many people wind up when they have nothing - on the streets, in the Downtown Eastside. Sebastian found me last year, and now... well, now I'm here."

Fenris's gaze drops to the table, his grip on his tea cup tightening.

"I've never told anyone any of this," he says, his voice hardly more than a whisper, uncertainty clear in every syllable. "There's so much that I don't remember... I was always told that I couldn't rely on my memory, you see. Things that I remembered happening, Dan told me I'd- I'd dreamed, or made up, then he would tell me things I  _didn't_  remember happening, but I trusted him- it's taken a long time to piece it all together. And it sounds insane. I know it sounds insane, fuck-"

"I believe you," says Garrett.

Fenris squeezes his eyes shut, shaking his head. "You don't need to tell me what you think I want to hear-"

"Fenris, I'm not," says Garrett, reaching across the table and placing his hands over Fenris's, still clasped tight around his cup. Fenris opens his eyes, looking up to meet Garrett's. "Listen to me. I believe you. All of it."

Fenris stares, lips barely moving as he echoes numbly, "You... believe me."

Garrett nods, rubbing his thumbs over Fenris's wrists. "I believe you. And there's no way in  _fuck_  that we're going to let him take you again, okay?"

Fenris swallows hard and looks away. Slowly, he unwraps his hands from his tea cup and places them in Garrett's, and Garrett can feel how badly he's shaking. He clasps Fenris's hands tightly and doesn't let go. 

Fenris looks back up, eyes wet. 

"Okay," he whispers, and smiles.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Really not much to say after this one. Thank you to everyone who continues to comment and kudos and support this fic - it really does mean the world to me, and I love each and every one of you for it <3
> 
> OH I THOUGHT OF A NOTE FROM LAST CHAPTER  
> Fenris's security code - a lot of people have been asking me what it means!! I wish I thought of something clever that applies to an incident in-canon but.......................it's the release date for Dragon Age 2 - March 8, 2011. Yep. Sorry folks it was not that clever.


	32. Otters, Bears, and Canadian Waterfowl

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Holy shit we're back. This chapter is essentially Whistler and Talking About Feelings.

Somehow, despite the insanity and uncertainty, despite the heavy weight of Fenris's past laid bare between them now - despite all of this, they make it up to Whistler that weekend.

The long drive up the Sea-to-Sky Highway isn't as awkward as Garrett fears it might be. They set out early enough in the morning that they get to watch the sun rise over the Burrard Inlet, the city lit up by the amber September morning in the distance across the water. Garrett puts on  _The Suburbs_  album by Arcade Fire (the deluxe edition) as they pass Horseshoe Bay and follow the mountain highway up and up, but never very far from the water; Howe Sound trails along beneath them even as they climb far above the shimmering ocean. 

Fenris dozes between sips of black coffee, and Garrett listens to the same fucking music he's been listening to for the past six years, and he thinks about the suburbs, and the way he grew up. He thinks about sitting on rooftops with Marian and drinking Growers and cheap mickeys of Polar Ice and never worrying as much as he should have, probably. Marian was in trouble nearly every day and his mom emotionally abandoned him and the other twins for a time and it was tense as fuck, most days, but he never felt like he was without a home. Without a way out. 

Fenris's life experience is almost catastrophically out of Garrett's depth, and they both know it. Fenris must have known this since the day they met. Garrett doesn't  _get it_ , but he  _gets_  it, now, why Fenris would look so achingly sad at times, when Garrett was just a customer in his coffee shop who flirted with him over the counter, who became tongue-tied and clumsy in Fenris's presence. 

He doesn't know, but he can guess at the feeling of having your nose pressed up against the glass of a life you feel like you could never live. 

"You have a nice voice," says Fenris.

Garrett starts a little. "I thought you were asleep. Was I singing? Did I wake you up?"

"No, yes, and no," Fenris says, with a brief smile. "It's fine; like I said, you have a nice voice."

"Sorry."

"Don't be." Fenris frowns a moment, just thinking - Garrett's pretty sure he knows the difference between Fenris's thinking frowns and his  _frown_  frowns - then he asks, "Is this a favourite of yours?"

"The song?"

"The album."

Garrett grins. "Actually, this was kind of Bethy and Carver's jam for a while - they were the right age for it, you know, when it came out."

"Is there a right age for indie rock? Have we missed our moment?"

"Given that mom seems convinced that we're the archetypical millennial hipsters, I'm gonna say no, but this album in particular is all like, the frustrations of living in the terrors of middle-class suburbia. They were in high school at the time, so I mean, being the frustrated youth of the white picket fence brigade was a real struggle for them."

"Can't relate."

Garrett snorts, because he recognizes the drawl in Fenris's voice, but it's a little on the nose, given his current train of thought.

He almost wishes Fenris would reach between them, take his hand, maybe whisper something like, "I'm still me, Garrett." But it isn't Fenris that's changed.

It really isn't either one of them that's changed. Just... revealed.

"Keep singing," Fenris says, leaning back in his seat, looking ready to sleep again. "It was nice."

Garrett counts the beats, tapping the steering wheel as he navigates the next curve of the highway, and starts to sing quietly - under his breath, a little like a lullaby. 

" _Lock us up safe and hide the key_ -" Garrett sneaks a glance at Fenris, whose eyes have drifted shut,"- _but the night tears us loose, and in the half light we're free._

" _Strange how the half light can make a place new, you can't recognize me and I can't recognize you_.

" _We run through the streets that we know so well, and the houses hide so much; we're in the half light. None of us can tell, they hide the ocean in a shell._ " 

-

Garrett thinks Fenris might be a little overwhelmed by Whistler when they arrive - his eyes are certainly very wide as they skirt the edge of Whistler Village and pull into one of the hotel parking spots, under the speckled shade of some kind of leafy tree that Garrett assumes is a birch, because he doesn't know trees if they aren't evergreens, and birch sounds about right. 

"It's a fucking postcard," Fenris says. 

"Yep," Garrett says cheerily. "Hotel room isn't gonna be ready for a few hours yet, wanna explore?"

Fenris looks at Garrett, a little smile curling in the corners of his mouth. 

He nods, and they bail out of the car. 

It's a bit of a walk from the hotel into the village, but given that the walk is a hell of a scenic one through a forest and over a rushing creek, it's not exactly a hardship. Garrett spends the time productively: Explaining the disastrous lack of snow during the 2010 Winter Olympics.

"Whistler was fine because, I mean, look, we're in the middle of the fucking mountains," Garrett says, waving a hand and realizing belatedly that he's within earshot of a family with three children toddling along the walkway ahead of them. "Shit, whoops, anyway, they split the games between here and Vancouver though, and Vancouver was really warm."

"I thought the two places were closer together - not that I really paid much attention to the Olympics at the time," says Fenris. "So they had all the mountain events here, I take it?"

"Nope. A lot of the events were set up on Cypress, closer to the city, and it was just  _mush_. They ended up trying a bunch of different techniques to get some snow on the hills - like, airlifting snow by helicopter, snow cannons-"

" _Snow cannons?_ "

"Legit snow cannons."

"But where would the illustrious Canadian military be without their primary method of defence?"

Garrett elbows Fenris, and Fenris elbows Garrett back. 

They take a few steps along the covered bridge over Fitzsimmon's Creek, the afternoon September light bouncing off the water below and sparkling on the damp wood, and Garrett pauses.

"What?" asks Fenris.

"It's maybe a bit stupid, but... could I take a picture of you?"

Fenris tilts his head. "Why?"

They've taken pictures before, kind of - group shots at the Hanged Man with Fenris's face half-hidden in shadows, selfies at the beach or around the city where Fenris refuses to look at the camera, or with a blurred brown and white-inked hand reaching up to cover the lens. 

"How are we supposed to be modern hipster millennials if we don't have at least one picture of you gazing off into the centre-left distance with a pensive look on your face?" Garrett says, shooing Fenris forward. "Just one. Please?"

Fenris rolls his eyes and shoves his hands into his pockets, adopting a dramatically brooding expression and glowering out at the forest around them. "Like this?"

"Something like that," says Garrett, pulling out his phone. "Say 'I'm not a model!'"

"How about 'fuck off'?"

"Perfect!"

Predictably, Fenris ducks his head at the last moment, but a brief smile works its way into the picture, and Garrett's more than satisfied. 

Over the creek and across the road, they work their way into the village proper. The cobbled streets are as charming as Garrett remembers, overpriced brand-name stores hiding their familiarity under Swiss-villa style eaves and overhangs. Between these are the smaller boutiques; typical tacky tourist traps, shops selling bins of crystals and gems mined from the surrounding mountains, ice cream parlours, one of which features-

"Is that a  _cow?_ "

"Not a real one."

"It's big enough to be a real one."

Fenris and Garrett are largely silent as they stroll through the streets, taking in the bustle of people around them, and it's almost surreal to think that they're here, doing this, with Fenris's past so hot and close on his heels.

Fenris hasn't mentioned Hadriana or Dan since last night, and Garrett hasn't asked. It's not as fragile as a bubble, exactly, but there is something tenuous about this little getaway. 

This quiet, this companionable silence, the freedom to just walk the streets and be with one another, to passively observe; they both know it won't last.

But it's okay. It all feels okay.

-

The hotel, like most Whistler hotels, boasts a sort of "upper-class cabin in the woods" aesthetic. It's more bougie than Garrett would think to go for on his meager TA salary, but Marian was the one who booked it. 

"If there's anything I'm good at," she said last night, "it's last-minute hotel reservations and wrangling discounts. Perks of the film industry."

There's a fireplace, a full kitchen, a dining room, a bathroom, and a bedroom with an en-suite jacuzzi. It's impossible to miss the way Fenris's eyes latch on this last feature as he puts his backpack down beside the massive king-size bed. 

"Should we give it a go?" Garrett says.

"Wine," Fenris says, "and yes."

"Ooh, we could do wine, music,  _and_  a charcuterie," Garrett says. "Like fancy bitches."

Fenris raises an eyebrow at him, then turns back to the jacuzzi, already peeling off his (well, Garrett's, but Fenris's as of two months ago) sweater. "Food later. I don't want to be responsible for any damages should we accidentally clog the jets with camembert." 

"So little trust in my ability to keep from dropping cheese in the bath water?"

"I've known you long enough." 

"Half a year!"

"Long enough."

Garrett sticks his tongue out at Fenris, and leaves the room to grab the wine. 

When he returns, the tub is filling steadily with steaming water, and Fenris is down to his jeans, framed in the light of the window as he looks out over the village.

"I like places like this," Fenris says, as Garrett comes to stand beside him. "Quiet, I mean. Close enough to civilization that you aren't claustrophobic, but... a little apart from it all. It was always big cities and grey towers, before. I think."

"I've never been to New York," Garrett says, and it's the closest he's come all day to acknowledging all that Fenris told him last night. "A friend of mine went once. Apparently they wound up having a panic attack because they couldn't wrap their head around how many people there were, or how tall the buildings were."

Fenris smirks. "This wasn't-"

" _It wasn't Anders_ , no, some kid I knew from the suburbs. I ended up having a nightmare about like, buildings so tall I couldn't see the top of them just sort of looming in on me."

"You get used to it," Fenris says. "But I wasn't a fan of the height."

Something dark crosses his face, and Garrett can picture it, a little; being so far off the ground that the only exit is a single, well-watched door. Being able to see out the windows but unable to step through, unless you only planned to do so once.

He cracks the wine bottle open and passes it to Fenris. Fenris takes it with a bit of a start, shaken from his thoughts, and gives Garrett a grateful nod. 

Garrett kisses Fenris's cheek, and goes to set up some appropriately trashy indie music. 

The only downside to the jacuzzi - for Garrett, at least - is that the walls around it are covered in mirrors. As he strips off his clothes, he's forced into one or two less than flattering glimpses of his hairy ass that he could honestly do without, as well as a distinct softness forming around his thighs and midsection. 

"You know, I read recently we've got this like, epidemic in the Lower Mainland?" Garrett says, stepping into the tub. Fenris is still in the process of peeling off those tight black jeans, and it's a welcome distraction from Garrett's own self-consciousness. "Apparently guys our age are starting to develop big beer bellies from all the craft beer."

"Hmm," says Fenris, kicking his pants aside. 

"You'd tell me if I got a beer belly, right? Like, you'd have that conversation with me?"

"Do you think you've got a beer belly, Hawke?"

Garrett pokes at his stomach forlornly as Fenris steps into the jacuzzi, bottle of wine in hand. "I think I've got a few inches of beer-related padding. Or 'sitting at a desk all day grading papers' padding."

"Or  _Chopped_  marathon padding? Paired with a 3 a.m. kitchen raid to make the most questionable midnight snack known to mankind?" 

"Seriously, a guy does that while his boyfriend is over one time _-_ "

Fenris nudges Garrett under the water, knee-to-knee. "I think you're a fine specimen of a man, Hawke. If it helps."

"Even if I've officially moved from otter territory to all-out bear?"

"I really, deeply wish that I did not know what you meant by that. Isabela has much to answer for."

Garrett snorts, taking the wine from Fenris. "She gave you an education, did she?"

"I was expecting her to pull out a slideshow presentation." Fenris leans back against the edge of the jacuzzi, grinning. "She said you were a classic bear."

"What?! I was definitely an otter when she had this conversation with me the first time."

"And when was that?"

Garrett sinks into the water, taking a sulky sip of the wine. "A while ago."

"There's nothing wrong with being a bear, Hawke. Bears are very popular."

"But I was an  _otter_." Garrett looks sidelong at Fenris. "What did she diagnose you as, anyway?"

Fenris adopts an intensely stormy look, and takes the bottle of wine from Garrett's hands. "She was wrong."

"I didn't ask if you agreed with her, I asked what she said."

"It doesn't matter, because she was incorrect."

"She said you were a twink, didn't she?"

Fenris glares at Garrett over the bottle, his voice very precise and extremely dangerous as he asks, "Do  _you_  think I'm a twink, Hawke?"

Garrett clears his throat. Fenris's eyes narrow.

"Nah," says Garrett, and Fenris nods.

He waits until Fenris is taking a sip of the wine before saying, "A twunk, however-"

It's alarmingly fast, how Fenris manages to get his hands on Garrett's shoulders and forcibly dunk him face-first in the jacuzzi. Garrett's impressed. Sputtering and maybe a little drowned, but definitely impressed. 

"Alright then  _grumpy_ , how would you categorize yourself?" Garrett says, once he's cleared most of the water from his eyes and more importantly, his lungs.

"Perhaps I transcend categorization," says Fenris, looking annoyingly poised and dry after his vicious retribution. 

"Humour me."

"Does it have to be an animal?"

"I mean, usually. But there's also a wide range of 'daddy' categories to-"

" _Hard_  pass." Fenris tilts his head, considering. "Hmm. Would 'wolf' be too on the nose, given the name?" 

"Up to you. I think there's an expectation of body hair though, and you're pretty smooth."

"I can be a smooth wolf."

"I'll say," Garrett says, wiggling his eyebrows. He stops when Fenris narrows his eyes at him. "Please don't drown me again."

"No promises, though if you wanted to ingratiate yourself to avoid such a fate-"

Garrett immediately positions himself behind Fenris and starts in on his shoulders, massaging vigorously. Fenris's head falls back with a satisfied little groan, and he takes another swig from the bottle. 

They stay that way for a while, quietly passing the wine back and forth as Garrett works his hands over tattooed shoulders, passing fingertips over now-familiar scars. 

"This is nice," Fenris says eventually.

"I've heard I'm an excellent masseuse-"

"You know what I mean." Fenris glances back over his shoulder, his smile soft. "Though you are at that." 

"You needed a break, Fen."

Fenris laughs, quiet and somewhat mirthless. "I needed an escape. As always, it seems."

Fenris turns in the water, putting the wine aside. 

"I've built something here, I think," he says slowly. "Not just with you, though believe me that's a significant part of it. A life. Something I made for myself. But... I'm somewhat at a loss, right now." 

Garrett opens his mouth to respond, but closes it just as quickly. Silences from Fenris, he's learned, are more often breaks for gathering thought, rather than invitations for interruptions. He puts a hand on Fenris's knee instead, and waits.

"He could take everything, Garrett," Fenris says. Garrett doesn't need to ask who "he" is. "I don't want to run anymore, but- losing this to him would... I don't know what that would do to me. I would lose myself, most likely. 

"So my instinct is to run, but it seems I risk all of this no matter what I do. I'm... afraid." 

Garrett opens his arms and, after a moment of hesitation, Fenris folds himself into them. 

"I'm not going to let that happen," Garrett says fiercely, his lips brushing Fenris's soft white hair. 

"You might not have a choice," Fenris says, sounding very tired. "He's won this fight before." 

"Yeah, well, fuck that guy," says Garrett. Fenris snorts. "No seriously, fuck that guy. Like, a lot. This is gonna be different. You've got a lot of dumbass idiot people with dubious skill sets who are pretty fucking invested in keeping you around. That's gotta count for something." 

He feels Fenris smile into his collarbone. "More than you know." 

"See? But honestly, Fen, I mean it." Garrett pulls back a bit, so he can see Fenris's face. "I don't care what it takes. He's gonna have to go through me before he gets to you." 

Fenris's face twists, and his eyes drop.

"Garrett, that is exactly what I'm most afraid of." 

"Okay, could have phrased that better," Garrett says, pulling Fenris back in. "But if it helps, before he gets through me, he's gonna have to get through Marian." 

This time, Fenris relaxes a little, even laughs. "Now that is a comforting thought."

"Right?" Garrett kisses Fenris's head. "Believe me, I've seen my sister in a fistfight. We're talking the unofficial lightweight champion of the dingy Lower Mainland bar circuit. No force on Earth could topple that woman."

Fenris nuzzles in close. "I truly hope you're right."

"Fen, when it comes to Marian, I'm literally never wrong. Trust me."

-

Marian hits the pavement ass-first, with only seconds to process the pain of the impact before her vision is filled with feathers again, ear-splitting honks and hisses pounding on her eardrums. 

"Andy-  _Andy stop fucking laugh-_  OW- CALL THIS FUCKING GOOSE OFF!"

"It's not - my fucking - goose," Anders manages, between bouts of laughter.

Marian curls up in the fetal position, trying to fend off the attack with her hands only to realize too late that she's presenting her vulnerable fingers as target practice for the irate goose. "I didn't- FUCK- I didn't even fucking  _do_  anything!"

"You called it a chicken!" Anders snorts, his voice breaking as he says, "You offended its ancestors!"

"Geese don't FUCKING speak English, you-  _fucking_ OW."

The goose latches onto her thumb, beating her around the head with its wings. As the beast is no longer snapping at her eyes, she takes the opportunity to stumble to her feet, shaking her hand to try to fling it off.

"Oh- oh be careful, though-"

"Andy, if you think for a fucking second that I'm gonna try to be gentle with this-  _ARGH_."

At the expense of the flesh of Marian's thumb, the goose falls back, successfully dislodged. Marian wastes no time, turning to sprint for the parking lot, Anders trailing after her at a much less panicked jog. 

"'Walk around Stanley Park,' he said," says Marian bitterly, slamming the door to the driver's side as she settles into her seat. Andy takes up the passenger seat, still snickering. "' _It'll be so relaxing_ ,'  _he said._ "

"I never told you to antagonize a Canada goose," says Anders, wiping tears from his eyes. "You grew up here, you should know better." 

"Andy, in all your years of knowing me, when have I ever 'known better,'" Marian grouses, pulling out a pack of Belmonts.

Without pause, Anders reaches over and plucks the pack from her hands. "You pretty much always know better. If anything, I feel like you use the route of knowing better as a baseline for doing the exact opposite shit."

"Harsh," Marian says, leaning back in her seat. "Fair, and spot on, but harsh."

"You wanted real talk."

"When the fuck did I ever ask for real talk?"

Anders pulls out his phone, pulls up a text screen, and turns it to Marian.

 

**From: Marian Hawke**

oky so I think that meyb I coulddo with some reel talk 2morrow when im sobre k thx

 

"I mean, two Es," Marian says, folding her arms. "I could have been talking about, like, movies or some shit."

"I know a cry for help when I see one," Anders says, stowing his phone. "You're in a shit place."

"When am I ever in a good place?"

"That's a lazy out and you know it."

" _Ugh._  I hate it when you're being real."

"You're sad because Isabela's gone and you don't know how to fix it, and you seem to think that if you punish yourself enough she'll come back."

"Of course I asked for this, I'm a masochist, I really am."

"But that's not working because that's not how, like, anything works? Trust me."

"I don't."

"You do."

" _Ugh!_ No, I don't, because you let me get attacked by a goose earlier, and you didn't tell me you'd patched things with Karl, and one of these days we're gonna have to bail you out of jail because you'll have done something real big and noble and dumb like push a bulldozer off a cliff to save a nest of wee baby geese fucks, or some shit."

"Now you're projecting."

" _I know I'm fucking projecting._ " Marian slams her forehead onto the car horn, taking perverse pleasure in the long, loud  _beeeeep_  that blasts out of the hood, frightening the nearby pedestrians. 

Anders doesn't stop her, just sits and waits for her to lift her head again. 

"I'm back at work on Tuesday," Marian mutters, resting her chin on the steering wheel. "Pre-production for the big move, you know."

"So you're looking forward to it."

"Fuck yeah."

"So you can bury your emotions that you don't know how to deal with under fifteen-hour work days and phone calls and e-mails."

" _Fuck_  yeah."

"You need a fucking therapist."

"Don't." Marian turns her head to look at Anders, resting the side of her face on the wheel. "Maybe. Would it help?"

"If you let it."

"Would it make Isabela come back? Or at least turn time back by like, six months?"

Anders props his chin on his hand, his amber eyes a little sad as he meets Marian's gaze. "You know if you try to fix yourself for someone else, it's never going to work."

"What other motivation is there?"

"Fixing yourself so you stop self-sabotaging so  _tremendously_."

"Maybe I like being a tremendous fuck-up."

"You like being tremendous. You just seem to think you can't be tremendous in positive ways." 

Marian shoots finger guns at Anders with little " _pew pew_ " noises. "Maybe I know my limits. Isn't that fucking healthy?"

"Maybe you're afraid of realizing you do have limits, so you don't even try."

"Where are you getting all this fucking bullshit smart mental wellness jargon from anyway?"

"Therapy."

"Ahh." Marian sits up. "And how did that work for you?"

"Shitty, until I found a therapist that wasn't condescending as fuck. Shitty, until I realized I was trying really hard to maintain my own comfortable sense of self-worth, which was approximately zero. Shitty, until I realized that I was trying to fix myself for other people. I had to learn to stop caring, then start caring, and it was hard." Anders shrugs. "And now look at me. Picture of mental health."

"You dress up your cats for Halloween and yesterday I saw you apologize to our toaster because you put it on the wrong setting and it burned your bagel and you were worried it would feel bad for your mistake."

"Yeah,  _maybe._ "

Marian's phone buzzes.

"I'll think about it," Marian says, fishing her phone from her jeans pocket. "If you know anyone who's smarter than I am, maybe pass along their number."

"I'm not going to make that joke because I'm a nice fucking person, but you really left yourself open there."

" _Ha ha_ ," says Marian, and unlocks her phone screen to read her new message. 

 

**From: M!Hawke**

when I get back from whistler we've gotta talk. there's some shit potentially coming down the pipe. don't think fen and I can take it on alone. 

 

**From: M!Hawke**

like do you know any good lawyers is the kind of shit I'm talking about.

 

Marian frowns, and clicks off her phone screen, tucking it away.

"What's up?" Anders asks, echoing her frown.

Marian works her jaw, then pulls out her car keys.

"It looks like it's time to get the plot rolling again," she says, and revs the engine.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> PSA BEFORE ANYTHING ELSE, THE MOST IMPORTANT: I don't think Fen is a twink. It's a running joke I've seen in the fandom and I thought I would indulge. He's also not a wolf (except when he is, says I, the one who wrote an entire series about potentially shape-shifting wolf!Fen, which I should pick up again at some point). I agree with Fen's assessment: He transcends categorization.
> 
> "FoxNonny, where the fuck have you been?" - you, maybe
> 
> Good fucking question! Here's an itemized list of excuses for the five-month hiatus from hell:  
> \- School and work. I'm crawling my way through an associate's degree (I'm actually running the first hour of a class tonight and I haven't done the readings or made the powerpoint or drawn up the worksheet or anything, because I'm a bad student and I get by on Charm and Wit). I'm also the assistant editor for a newspaper which means I edit the Entire Newspaper and try to manage all my little underlings. Also I'm on two executive boards for the paper and for a university choir, like yeesh.  
> \- I'm also in a long-term relationship for the first time pretty much ever and wow those are time-consuming who knew??  
> \- Lack of inspiration. I've been slowly losing touch with these characters and it's been breaking my heart a little. However, I'm back on my Dragon Age bullshit for another run through and I've been remembering why I loved them to begin with.  
> \- Brain health shit. Executive dysfunction. Enchantment! Better meds, better now.
> 
> AND ON TO THE NOTES:  
> \- Canada geese are fucking rage machines, they WILL attack without provocation, they WILL fuck up your shit. Here is a mild example: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0F61BChgQ5c  
> \- Also, one of the BioWare offices had a family of geese nesting on their property. They named one Ganders. That is all.  
> \- At some point in your life I highly recommend driving the Sea-to-Sky to Whistler. It's pretty as fuck. Also recommend listening to The Suburbs by Arcade Fire for the full FoxNonny experience (I was the Bethany and Carver-style teenager listening to that album and raging against the machine or whatever) (that was eight years ago) (sweet fuck)  
> \- More notes will probably occur to me but I really do have a class to run tonight and I've done nothing so AAAAAHHH
> 
> As always, what keeps me coming back to this fic are the comments. You guys absolutely make this a worthwhile ride for me. Hopefully the next chapter will be up sooner than this one. Thank you <3


	33. Firing Chekhov's Gun

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You're not hallucinating - this is my second update in like, five days. If you haven't read the last chapter posted on Monday (which isn't super plot-related but there's character shit, and an angry goose), I'd suggest reading that first, but I mean... the internet is a free world, eh?

Their last night in Whistler is largely spent in bed with very few words spoken between them, communicating through touches and moans, desperate biting kisses and sharp gasps, and each others' names; again, and again, with every possible meaning in the inflections.

Fenris fucks Garrett, and it amazes him, how gentle Fenris is. How careful. He's had Fenris pin his hands and ride his cock with such ferocity that it was honestly more a question of semantics as to who was getting fucked (and those nights are  _good nights_ , the kind that Garrett tends to think about at really inappropriate moments when his mind wanders, or when Fenris bends over in tight jeans around him). 

But no, when Fenris tops, he moves slowly, his hands caressing but never grasping, kisses pressed to Garrett's shoulders without teeth. He shifts and moves until he's sure he's found the best angle, Garrett voicing his appreciation for the warm drag of Fenris's cock over his prostate in grateful moans.

When he hears that shift in Fenris's breathing, feels him start to lose that careful control, he reaches down to take hold of his own hard cock, leaking and desperate for attention. Fenris beats him to it, wrapping a blissfully tight hand around his dick and working him over, taking the time to work the pad of his thumb over the sensitive head even as his hips stutter, rhythm thrown off by mounting pleasure.

They come at nearly the same time - Garrett first, the sounds and tightness of his body around Fenris taking him over the edge with him. Fenris only pauses for the briefest moment, lost to his climax, before continuing to stroke Garrett's cock, working him through to the very last. 

Clean-up is a quick and silent affair, and soon Fenris is curled up close in Garrett's arms, fingertips trailing through chest hair as they share lazy kisses.

"I don't want to go back," Fenris murmurs.

"Neither do I," says Garrett. "We could just run away together, you know."

Fenris hums, as if truly considering the idea. "Where would we go?"

"I mean, you worked your way from Montreal to here, so that's basically a straight shot west. Maybe we could go north? The Territories, or the Yukon."

"Too cold."

"Nunavut?"

" _Far_ too cold."

"How about a little fishing village in the Maritimes?"

Fenris smiles. "I've never been to the Maritimes."

"Oh man, it's like- I mean the last time I went there I was twelve so honestly I'm not exactly an expert, but I remember thinking it was pretty cool that they let kids in pubs over there. Plus the accents are way cuter there than they are here. And fresh fish!" Fenris makes a low noise of disapproval, and Garrett quickly amends. "Uh. Also things that aren't fish? Fuck, I don't know dick about the Maritimes."

"Then I suppose we're stuck here."

"Yeah." Garrett stares up at the ceiling, trying to wrap his head around it all. 

In truth, he hasn't really thought too hard on what the real implications of Dan's potentially imminent arrival could be. He's been trying pretty fucking hard not too, in point of fact. There are too many scary questions that he doesn't know the answer to, maybe doesn't want to know the answer to. 

All he can think is that in a good and just world, there could be no version of the future where he loses Fenris to his past. No possibility of Fenris finding himself back in the hell of his abuser's supposed "guardianship." Fenris's status wouldn't matter, his past wouldn't matter - people in charge of making these kinds of decisions would just look at him, look at what he's escaped, and  _know_  that it would be catastrophically heartless and wrong to put him in that position again. 

It felt brave, and it felt easy, telling Fenris that he would stand with him, that they could win this together somehow. An easy promise to keep here, away from the realities of what tomorrow could bring.

"Fenris," he says, so soft he can barely hear himself. "I don't know how to stop this. I don't know how to keep you safe."

Fenris doesn't hesitate before responding. 

"I know."

Garrett glances down to see Fenris gazing up at him, still resting on his chest. His eyes are soft, his voice calm; if anything, he sounds relieved.

"Garrett," says Fenris, shifting so they're face-to-face, "tomorrow we'll talk to your sister. We'll see what options are left to us. But for now, we don't know. I... I don't know how to explain this to you, but it's strangely comforting, facing down this thing knowing that I'm- that maybe I'm not underestimating how totally fucked it all is. How slim my chances are."

Fenris closes his eyes and touches his forehead to Garrett's, warm breath ghosting over Garrett's lips.

"I know that you'll try," he says. "I know we'll both try. I know that you love me." 

He breathes.

"And I know that I love you."

Garrett opens his eyes as Fenris lifts his head, feels his lips part in shock as Fenris's words sink in.

"I'm sorry I didn't tell you sooner, but... I assumed you already knew. I assumed it was obvious." Fenris presses his mouth to Garrett's stunned lips, a gentle kiss. "I'm yours, Garrett Hawke. Utterly."

Garrett lifts a hand, brushing Fenris's hair from his eyes. "Fenris..."

"It's alright," says Fenris, putting a hand over Garrett's, gifting him a warm smile. "We're both at a loss tonight, aren't we? Let's be lost, then. Let's be lost together."

Garrett nods, and they seal it with a kiss.

-

They don't tell Marian everything.

Fenris frames the problem as they sit around the dining room table that Sunday evening, freshly showered after the two-hour drive back home. There's a full pot of tea and a plate of biscuits set between them, largely untouched. Garrett has his laptop out and is nose deep in laws and codes that he's only ever briefly scanned before, months ago when the issue was far less pressing. The results aren't very promising, but he keeps this to himself, for now.

Fenris's version of the story for Marian is told in very broad strokes: He has an abusive ex with legal guardianship over him. He escaped to Canada and was declared a missing person in the States. He has no documentation. His ex knows where he is now. 

Marian listens, drinking her tea with an increasingly dissatisfied look on her face, as if wishing the Earl Grey would magically transfigure itself into Captain Morgan. Garrett knows the feeling.

"I'm kind of surprised he hasn't reported you, if he knows you're here," Marian says once Fenris is finished; not unsympathetic, but deeply practical. "It's not like the VPD have a great record of giving a shit about undocumented immigrants. Usually they just call up the CBSA and let them deal with it. You might have wanted to settle in a city with better immigration policies."

"I'll keep that in mind next time I'm on the run in a foreign country," Fenris says coolly. 

Marian stirs her tea, drumming her fingertips on the tabletop with her free hand. "Okay. So I mean, obviously the ideal eventual outcome is for you to become a citizen, right? Makes it a little harder for someone to drag you out of the country that way."

"When I first came here, my priority was not being found," says Fenris. "A paper trail is not conducive to that goal. I also sort of figured that the Canadian government would have some qualms about granting citizenship to a missing person with a criminal record who's essentially been declared legally insane." 

"Christ," mutters Marian, scrubbing a hand over her face. "It's just so fucked up."

Haunt provides a welcome distraction in that moment by hopping up onto the table with an apple core in his mouth, padding over to Fenris and dropping it beside his teacup.

"Fuck, Kitty must've gotten into the garbage again," Marian scowls, getting to her feet. "Dog, none of us are impressed that you've figured out how cupboards work!"

There's an answering whine from the kitchen, and Marian rolls her eyes, muttering as she stalks off in that direction.

"Kind of you," Fenris says to Haunt, offering a hand for the cat to sniff. "You're free to indulge in the spoils of your labour, however. Go on."

"Andy is gonna cry if he finds out Haunt's bringing you presents," Garrett says. He thinks. "I mean, he did bring Andy a spider once."

"Was it dead?"

"Nope."

Fenris grins. "Good cat."

Garrett watches as Haunt finishes inspecting Fenris's hand, and even goes so far as to give Fenris's knuckles the gentlest of nudges with his little pink nose before returning to his apple core.

"Hey, for what it's worth, I think it's pretty fucking brave of you to talk about this shit with Marian," Garrett says. "She's not, like, the most outwardly empathetic person, but I know she wants to help."

"I prefer her bluntness over pity," Fenris says, "and at this point, I don't think it's safe to keep to myself anymore. To ourselves. Though..."

He frowns.

"What's up?" asks Garrett, when Fenris doesn't elaborate.

"She raises a good point," Fenris says slowly. "Dan knows where I am. He could report me to your border security anytime he pleases. Hadriana even threatened to do as much. What the fuck is he waiting for? He's found me before, he's never given me this kind of time to plan my next move."

"I mean, he doesn't have anyone paid off in the legal system here, right?" Garrett says. "Not like New York? Maybe he's just hoping to scare you into going back with him, without having to involve the courts."

"Maybe," Fenris says, not sounding overly convinced. He shakes his head. " _Hopefully_. But he should know by now that I'm not easily frightened." 

"Because you're a badass," says Garrett. "Like, the baddest of asses."

"Hmm," says Fenris, but he smiles a little.

"Hey, what about asylum?" says Marian, entering the room with an abashed Kitty at her heels. She sees Fenris's face and quickly amends. "Not- not like, mental asylum, shit. I mean protection within Canada. It's a long fucking shot and it hasn't protected a lot of people in your position, but I mean, it's something at least, if staying here is your priority."

"Wouldn't I have to be a political refugee?" Fenris says. 

"We could look it up. I'm sure in theory there's gotta be a clause covering domestic abuse." 

"I'll get on it," Garrett says, pulling up a search window. Marian sits back at her seat.

"Even so, the risk of entering such a process when the odds are so low..." Fenris blows out a frustrated breath. "I do not mean to be difficult. But you can understand why I'm hesitant to go through legal channels in this case."

"Look- no, Kitty, down, you have garbage breath." Marian gently shoves Kitty off her lap, but quickly makes up for it by slipping the massive dog a biscuit. "The way I see it, you've got three options. One, wait for your shitty ex to call the cops on you and get you deported. Two, we sneak you back over the border to the country where at least you're a legal citizen, which honestly might be your safest bet. Three, we try to do this the legal way, spill our guts to some kind of authority, and hope that justice bears out, or whatever. You said you wanted to stay; option three is the only way I can see it happening."

Fenris takes a long sip of his tea, and says nothing.

"That second option..." Garrett starts, looking up from his laptop. Fenris cuts him a narrow look. "Hear me out; it buys you time, right? Then maybe- maybe we could do this properly, you know? Get you a visa, sponsor you-"

"I'm still a wanted person in the States," Fenris says, his words heated, but Garrett knows the anger isn't directed at him. "Any kind of paperwork, anything where they have to look into my identity, they'll see exactly what was sent to you."

"There's gotta be some kind of program," Marian starts, "like a shelter, or something, some kind of protection-"

"I've experienced the best  _protection_  that country has to offer," Fenris snaps. Even Haunt pauses in his destruction of the apple core, looking faintly alarmed at Fenris's tone. "It wasn't enough. I can't- I can't keep running like this."

Garrett gives Fenris's words the space they need before he speaks again.

"It could be different this time," Garrett says. "You have us. You wouldn't be in his city, on his playing field. I know it feels like running-"

"It  _is_  running," Fenris says dully.

"Okay, but you're not just running from him this time," Garrett says. "You would have a home to come back to. You'd have support."

Fenris looks away, his brow deeply furrowed.

"I need to think," he says eventually, shoving his chair back and getting to his feet. "Excuse me."

He leaves the room. Moments later, Garrett hears the sliding door to the backyard open and shut. 

"Fuck," says Marian, letting out a long breath. "That's... fuck. I mean it explains a lot, but Jesus."

"You got the Cliff's Notes version," Garrett says quietly. "Believe me, however bad you think this guy is, he's about a million times worse."

"Gare, I don't want to scare you, but... this isn't-" Marian leans heavily on the table, looking about as grave as Garrett's ever seen her. "I know people who've gone through this system. I remember a friend of mine back in Surrey, her dad- and he was a genuine political refugee too, he had a family here and everything, and they-" Marian closes her eyes. "Fuck, this is just... I honestly think getting him back across the border is our best bet at this point, and even  _that_  could get us all involved in an international fucking incident. But if the goal is to keep him away from his ex, that looks like the safest option."

"He doesn't want to let Dan win," Garrett says heavily. "I don't know if you've noticed, but my boyfriend is kind of a stubborn guy."

"You don't say," Marian says. "Look, I'm not ruling out a legal path here. But you both have made this sound like kind of a pressing concern. Like, border agents showing up on our doorstep at any given moment kind of concern. If we don't have a lot of time to act-"

"I know," says Garrett. "I guess... I don't know. If it could work out so he could stay..."

Marian's eyes are uncharacteristically soft as she looks at him. "It still could. Just, maybe not right now."

Garrett bites his lip, and nods. "I'm gonna go talk to Fenris."

"I think that's a good idea."

-

Fenris is smoking when Garrett joins him on the back step, closing the sliding door carefully behind him. That's what Garrett thinks, anyway, until he sees how far the embers have travelled down the slim cigarette, untapped and judging by Fenris's faraway look, untouched. 

"What do you think I should do, Garrett?" Fenris asks, his tone awfully neutral. 

Garrett, stupidly, feels tears prickling at his eyelashes, and quickly blinks them away.

"I mean, there's running, and then there's such thing as a tactical retreat-"

"Don't," Fenris says, and finally taps his cigarette, before dropping it in the ashtray to smoulder. "Just... tell me what you think I should do."

Garrett balances his elbows on his knees, clasps his hands between them. Swallows. 

"I think there's no right fucking answer," says Garrett. "But... I want you to have your life here. And I think the only way we can guarantee that is if you go, for now."

Fenris snorts. "You want me to go, so I can stay."

"Yes."

Fenris turns his head, and looks at Garrett. The September sun lights up his vivid eyes, a gentle breeze lifting strands of his snowy hair, and for a moment Garrett can't fucking breathe, imagining Fenris gone. 

_I'm yours, Garrett Hawke. Utterly._

"I might not be able to come back," Fenris says. 

"Then I'd join you down there," Garrett says, without hesitation. "When things are settled, or- or fuck, whatever, as soon as I can, I'd join you."

"Your life is here, isn't it?"

"My life-" Garrett's voice breaks, and he takes a moment to find it again before continuing. "Fen, my life has been in a few different places with very few constants. It's not about where I am. It's not about where any of us are, I mean- Marian's off to the UK, Bela's MIA, Bethy's here, there, and everywhere, Carver's up the mountain most days, Andy's off with Karl most of the time, Aveline's got her work and Varric's always on the road, it's not the  _place_  that makes all this important to me. It's not Kirkwall. It's not even Vancouver. It's them, and-" Garrett swallows. "And it's  _you._ Wherever you are. Whatever it takes."

Fenris's breath catches, and he looks away.

"It would be... hard to gain citizenship, with a deportation on my record," Fenris says slowly.

Garrett nods. "Yeah, I- I think they tend to be a little finnicky about that kind of thing."

Fenris breathes, hands clenching and unclenching. "Maybe I should-"

 

" ** _DON'T STOP, NEVER GIVE UP! HOLD YOUR HEAD HIGH AND REACH THE TOP-_** "

 

Garrett and Fenris both startle violently, Garrett's phone blasting the ringtone at top volume.

"You need a different  _fucking_  ringtone, Hawke," Fenris says, as Garrett scrambles to answer it.

"I know, shit, S Club 7 isn't really appropriate for these kinds of-  _fuck_ -"

 

" ** _LET THE WORLD SEE WHAT YOU HAVE GOT! BRING IT ALL BACK TO-_** "

 

Garrett doesn't recognize the number, but he answers anyway, desperate to stop the noise. "Hello? Garrett here."

" _Is Fenris with you?_ "

Garrett nearly drops the phone, and judging by the look of echoed bewilderment on Fenris's face, it's apparent that he's hearing what Garrett's hearing. " _Seb?_  What's going on?"

" _Garrett, you need to listen to me,_ " says Sebastian, his voice urgent and panicked in a way that Garrett's never heard before. He also starts to pick up on background noises from the other end of the call; phones ringing, clamouring voices. " _Tell Fen to get to Saint Andrea's immediately. If he explains his status, they'll offer him sanctuary, and that should-_ "

"Seb, seriously, slow the fuck down," Garrett says, getting to his feet. Fenris is already standing, listening in on the call intently with wide eyes. "Where are you right now?"

" _I've been arrested_ ," Sebastian says, " _on suspicion of fraud, and- and dealing._ "

"The fucking  _fuck?_  Dealing fucking  _what?"_

The long breath Sebastian takes on the other end of the phone is rattling, and does not prepare Garrett for what Sebastian says next. _  
_

" _Prescription medication._ "

Fenris does not hesitate - he turns and hauls the back door open, taking off towards the front door.

"Fen- no, Fenris,  _wait!_ " Garrett runs in after him, barely listening as Sebastian continues to talk at him over the phone.

" _He heard that?_ "

"Of course he fucking heard that, he was sitting right next to me- look, Seb, I'm really sorry, I'm handing you off to Marian." Garrett throws the phone to his sister who's just getting up from the table to investigate the fuss, and despite her utter confusion she manages to catch it before it hits the ground. "It's Seb, just-  _shit_ -"

Fenris is already in his shoes and throwing the front door open when Garrett catches him by the arm, hauling him back. "Fenris-!"

"Let me  _go_ , Hawke," Fenris snaps. "Just tell me where they're holding him, and I'll-"

"You'll  _what?_  How exactly is getting yourself caught going to help him?"

"I'm not getting myself caught, I'm turning myself  _in_ ," Fenris says, wrenching his arm from Garrett's grasp. "I'll tell them I blackmailed him, or I forced him to do it-"

"They probably don't even know you're involved!"

" _Of course they fucking know_ ," Fenris shouts, stepping close into Garrett's space, panicked and in pain and desperate in a way that Garrett knows he has no understanding of. "Who the  _fuck_  do you think told them? He's sent fucking private investigators before, he- fuck, I'm such a fucking  _idiot._ "

"You heard what Seb said," Garrett says, fighting the urge to take Fenris by the shoulders, knowing he could bolt at any moment. "He wants you to go to the church, you could take sanctuary there, it's kind of a thing-?"

"And then what?" Fenris hisses. "I sit there while the man who saved my fucking life loses his freedom? That's the fucking thanks he gets?"

"Fen, I'm sure the charges aren't that- I mean fuck, it's BC, drugs aren't exactly-"

" _Prescription drugs._  Seb works in social services, he counsels fucking  _addicts_  Garrett, it's not about the law. This would ruin his fucking life." Fenris shakes his head. "I can't do that to him. Not after everything he's done for me."

"It's a  _trap_ , Fen!"

"Of course it's a fucking trap!" Fenris almost laughs, the sound choked off and awful. "This is what he was waiting for, he knew I'd try to fucking run again- it doesn't matter, it doesn't make a fucking difference, and you  _know_  it, Garrett-" Fenris reaches up, taking Garrett's face in his hands. "You know I have to do this."

Garrett takes hold of Fenris's slim wrists, gentle - not restricting. 

"I know I can't stop you," Garrett says, his voice unsteady. "Whatever you choose to do, I'm behind you. I'm with you."

Fenris nods. "I know."

Garrett can't help it; he pulls Fenris into a tight hug, a hand coming up to Fenris's hair. He feels Fenris's entire body shudder as he presses himself close to Garrett's chest, his face tucked in close to Garrett's shoulder, his breathing ragged. 

"You can't- you shouldn't go in there alone," Garrett says. "Seb isn't in danger right now, we have a little time, we need to think about- fuck, legal representation, for one thing."

Fenris laughs bitterly into Garrett's shoulder. "Perfect. Know of any lawyers who would want to represent an illegal immigrant in a fucking  _narcotics_  case, now?"

"Marian might-" Garrett says, then stops short. Thinks.

Remembers. Movie star hair, a gorgeous Spanish accent, and a blind date from what seems like an eternity ago.

" _I do not mind punching up - occasionally taking advantage of the over-advantaged, showing no mercy where none was given in the first place._ "

"I do," Garrett says, almost numb. "Holy shit. I actually do."

-

Isabela doesn't pick up the first time he calls, and Garrett isn't really expecting her to. She doesn't pick up on the second one, either.

He somehow managed to coax Fenris back into the house, where a grey-faced Marian offered him a large glass of wine and a seat. Now Garrett's in his room, pacing, praying Isabela will answer, praying that Fenris doesn't change his mind and bolt while he tries to work this out.

It's on the fifth ring of the third call, and at the very last frayed edge of Garrett's hope, that there's a  _click_.

" _Gare-Bear_ ," Isabela says, though the pet name is delivered very coolly, and it isn't lost on Garrett that she's likely aware that Garrett knew about Marian's secret long before she did. " _Is this an emergency, or are we about to have a very awkward conversation about feelings? I'm not nearly drunk enough for the latter-_ "

"I'm really fucking sorry, but it's Fenris," Garrett says quickly. "He's in trouble, and- and I need to talk to Zev."

There's a long pause, almost too long for Garrett's nerves to take.

" _That kind of trouble?_ "

"About as fucking dire as you can imagine."

" _I'm sending you his contact information, he'll know I sent you_ ," Bela says, her tone uncharacteristically crisp. " _Tell Fen I'll be back in town by- oh, hmm, probably tomorrow morning, shit._ "

"You're coming home?"

There's a pause.

" _I'm coming back to help a very dear friend_ ," Bela says. " _Home is an entirely unrelated matter._ "

"I understand," says Garrett. "Thank you so much."

Bela's tone is a little softer when she replies. " _Happy to help. I'm glad you called._ "

"I'm glad you picked up."

" _Well, you're not the type of man to call a woman's phone several times in a row unless it's very urgent, so you have that going for you. Now I'm hanging up so you can call Zev- he probably won't be at his office, go straight for his personal cell._ "

"Gotcha."

Isabela hangs up before Garrett can say anything else. 

Garrett's phone buzzes in his hand, and he looks down to see a text from Bela with an attachment, and he can't help but snort at the name: 

[ **SexyLawyerZev.csv** ]

"You're about to get one fuck of a phone call, my guy," Garrett mutters, opening the file. "Let's see how far up you can punch."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> motherfuckin' notes y'all:
> 
> \- VPD: Vancouver Police Department. CBSA: Canadian Border Services Agency.
> 
> \- when I planned HSG two years ago with all this in mind I was way more confident in my country's acceptance of undocumented immigrants than I am now. Marian's right: VPD tends to just pass off undocumented folks (largely POC) to the CBSA, and more often than not this results in a departure notice or a deportation (we'll be bringing in more of the specifics over the next few chapters). It's ugly, and it's unfair, and it's an aspect of every part of the Vancouver legal system. In 2013 Transit Police arrested a woman over an unpaid ticket, sent her off to the CBSA to deal with, and she died in one of their holding cells under YVR eight days later. In one of my other jobs I interviewed the communications head of the transit police and asked her about their role in this bullshit and she glossed over the whole thing, because I mean, of course she did.
> 
> \- **EDIT: Her name was Lucia Vega Jiménez if you want to look up the case, also I'd rather not cite her story without saying her name.
> 
> \- so my choices coming to this part of the plot were basically, drop Fenris's undocumented status as a plot thread entirely because it could be Too Much to cover respectfully in a fanfiction, sugarcoat it and make up an imaginary Vancouver that doesn't fuck over undocumented PoC, or face it and do a shit ton of research to try to get it right. I went for the third option because what is a light-hearted comedy about a bunch of friends living it up in Vancouver without commentary on how this city treats immigrants?? 
> 
> \- I'm really really hoping that I made the right choice. I'm both very passionate about and *extremely fucking nervous* about how the next couple of chapters are going to go.
> 
> \- that being said, chapters should roll out pretty quickly now that I've got my groove back - I'm already halfway through the next one. 
> 
> As might be obvious, we're really swooping up to the climax now, and while it's not exactly the home stretch it's getting pretty fucking close. I could never have gotten this far without support and love from the community, and I really really hope that it all adds up to something worthwhile for you guys <3


	34. Many Fucking Meetings

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tags on this chapter for emetophobia, descriptions of a full-on PTSD panic attack, and FoxNonny struggling with police station layouts because for some reason finding detailed information on police stations in Canada is stupid hard and despite having been in the back of one (or two) cop cars, I've never been taken in to one, so *loud shrugging*
> 
> EDIT: forgot to add the chapter title because I'm a big dummy

Zevran shows up to the house with astonishing speed, standing on his doorstep within the hour. Garrett can't help but feel a bit self-conscious with the suave lawyer at the door of his rundown communal home on the shadier side of Kirkwall. It doesn't help that Zev is dressed in a fine suit with a leather briefcase in hand.

Garrett has a leather briefcase, but it's worn around the edges and bursting at the seams with papers and notes and scattered scraps of post-its. It hardly counts.

"Hello again," Zevran says, clasping Garret's hand warmly, his charming smile still as entrancing as Garrett remembers. "I had hoped we might reunite under better circumstances."

"Believe me, so did I," says Garrett with feeling. "Do you want to come in-?"

"If it is no bother, I had hoped to collect my client and make for the station," Zevran says. "You said your friend is still in custody, yes? The longer we wait, the more likely it is that he will say something he might hope is helpful, which could make things even more complicated than they are at present."

"Right," Garrett says, and his stomach turns a little. It's fucking surreal to imagine Sebastian - sanctimonious, law-abiding Sebastian - on the wrong end of a police interrogation. "Can I tag along, or-?"

"It should be fine if you wish to wait at the precinct, though I imagine it will be both stressful and very boring," Zevran says. "However, I would ask you to take another vehicle. I have very little time to prepare Fenris before we are thrust into the lion's den. I had hoped to use the drive there to become more familiar with more personal details of the case."

"Oh." Garrett forces himself to nod. "Right, makes sense."

Zevran inclines his head a little, his smile knowing. "I assure you, he will be in very good, very safe hands."

"I know," says Garrett. "And- fuck, thank you. You didn't have to do any of this. Just let me know what you charge and-"

Zevran waves a hand. "Do not concern yourself with payment. It has been taken care of."

"But-"

"Might I suggest we move quickly?"

Garrett mentally tucks away that little question of how the fuck Zevran is getting paid for all this for another day, and nods again. "Right. I'll just go get him-"

"No need," says Fenris, appearing at Garrett's elbow. He narrows his eyes a little at Zevran, but that seems to be the only sign of any lingering animosity from their first meeting. "Your car?"

Zevran steps aside and motions toward a slick black Mazda at the end of the road, showing up both Marian and Garrett's beat-up, second-hand cars in a thoroughly depressing way. "Do you have everything you will be needing? Any documents, evidence that could help?"

"Fen, I could forward him that e-mail," Garrett says. "I mean, fuck, only if you're comfortable with it-"

"I'm not," Fenris says bluntly. His gaze drops to the pavement. "However... it doesn't look as though I have much of a choice. It's all about to come out regardless."

"The more information you give me, the better I'll be able to help you," says Zevran. "It may not be comfortable, as you say, but I'm certain that it's better than the alternative."

Fenris looks up at Garrett, lifts his hands to Garrett's arms, holding tight. Garrett closes the distance between them for a kiss.

"I'll be right behind you," Garrett says.

"I know," says Fenris.

He lets go of Garrett, and nods to Zevran. 

Garrett watches them get into Zevran's car, but doesn't wait for them to pull away before retreating back into the house to grab his coat and his keys.

He's surprised to see Marian lacing up her Docs, jacket on and car keys already in hand. "You're coming?"

"I'm fucking driving, kid," says Marian, finishing the last knot with a decisive tug. "I've seen you drive when you're emotionally compromised, it's not pretty. And anyway, I'm faster."

"We're the same goddamn age," Garrett says, more out of habit than anything else. "But... thanks."

"Sure." Marian stands, flipping the keys in her hand. "Get your coat on quick or I'm leaving without you."

Garrett hugs her. After a moment, she hugs him back.

"We're gonna get through this, yeah?" Marian says, patting him on the back. "We're the Wonder Twins, or whatever. It's gonna be okay."

Garrett nods, but doesn't let go. "Um, Bela's... Bela's gonna be in town tomorrow, by the way."

Marian stiffens. "In town."

"Uh huh."

"Not... not coming home."

"Uh huh."

Marian's head falls forward into Garrett's shoulder, and she takes a deep breath. "I'm still fucking driving."

"I know."

"Because unlike you-"

"Unlike me, you drive even  _faster_  and  _ten times better_  when you're emotionally compromised."

"Damn straight."

They release each other and step back, and for an odd moment, Garrett can only see the similarities in Marian's face - the eyes may be blue, but they're the same shape as his. The same stubborn chin. Basically his eyebrows, maybe a bit thinner. 

He tends to perceive Marian, he realizes, by virtue of their differences. But right now, all he can think is how fucking lucky he is to have a sister who's so deeply a part of him. Someone who understands, and who he can understand perfectly in return.

"You're getting soppy," Marian accuses, watching him.

"When am I ever not soppy?" he says.

She punches his arm, but not very hard. "Come on. Seb's probably shitting himself by now."

-

Zevran's prediction is astute; the wait is stressful, and it's boring.

Garrett's been inside a police station before - Aveline's, once or twice, just to drop in. This is different. Way fucking different. 

There aren't too many people sitting in the station's small waiting area at 6 o'clock on a Sunday evening, as all other services the station might provide are closed for the weekend. The ones who are there seem to echo Garrett's mood back at him; nervous, fidgeting, checking the time. Zevran and Fenris were already taken in by the time Garrett and Marian pulled up, nearly an hour ago. 

Neither Garrett nor Marian felt like going up to the front desk to ask for the Wi-Fi password - honestly, their current goal is to remain unnoticed by officers wandering through, knowing they could be asked to leave at any moment. So Garrett has tethered to Marian's virtually limitless supply of data to continue his research, trying to find any kind of help, any kind of precedence to give him some small hope for Fenris's case. So far, all Google has turned up are article after article on how broken the system really is.

He thinks about texting the rest of the group, maybe spread the nerves out amongst his friends via group chat, but he quashes the idea pretty fucking quickly. If he's learned anything from watching cop shows, it's that talking about the case outside the case is a bad idea. 

And he suspects that he really hasn't learned very much from watching cop shows. 

He does send a brief message to Anders, as vague as he can keep it and mostly just to warn him so he can warn Karl. He deletes it from their messaging history immediately after sending it. He doesn't think anyone's going to be going through his phone for incriminating evidence or anything, but he doesn't want to take any chances. 

Marian is quiet, but far more still than Garrett, who feels as though he's practically vibrating with nerves - she balances her elbows on her knees and stares into nothing, a slight frown creasing her brow. Garrett can only guess what she might be thinking. 

There's a sound of a door closing, and Garrett looks up, hoping... well, hoping for something stupid, like Zevran and Fenris walking out triumphant with green card in hand. But it isn't either of them that emerges from around the corner of the waiting area.

It's Sebastian. 

Garrett has seen Sebastian in distress before; worried, when Fenris was in hospital. Grieving, when Wesley was killed. The look on his face right now is a little of both. 

Then his eyes land on Garrett, and that look shifts to anger, and, well, fuck, Garrett's seen that too. 

Sebastian marches over, hands curled into fists. " _Why-?_ "

"Outside," says Marian, without looking up. 

Garrett stands, grateful for his scant height on his ex as Sebastian stares him down with icy eyes. Without a word, they turn and make for the exit.

They make it to the other end of the parking lot, as far from any lingering police officers or cruisers as they can get, before Sebastian rounds on Garrett.

" _You were supposed to get him to the church,_ " Sebastian hisses in a forceful whisper.

"Well what the ever-loving  _fuck_  did you think he was going to do?" Garrett responds, his voice low. "You really think he would have just let you go down like that?"

"My record isn't as important as his  _wellbeing_ , Garrett-"

"Oh believe me, I tried to sell him on that argument," Garrett snaps, still quiet, a little crueler than he knows he should be. "Maybe you should have waited until I could get him out of fucking earshot before telling me you got arrested, and  _why._ "

Sebastian steps back, visibly deflating, and Garrett knows that last hit was too hard. 

"I-" Sebastian's hands go to his hair, grasping at the auburn strands. "You're right."

"Seb-"

"No, this is my fault, I- Jesus, I thought I was being so careful-"

"No, stop, shut up," says Garrett, stepping forward and grasping Sebastian by the shoulders. "You didn't do this."

"They even said they knew who I was passing the medication to-"

"Okay, fuck, just listen for a second, alright?" Garrett gives Sebastian a little shake for good measure. "It's not you. Fen thinks his crazy abusive fuckhead stalker might have hired a private investigator to dig up dirt on him. We're pretty sure getting you arrested was just some insurance to keep Fen from disappearing again."

Seb stares at Garrett, eyes very wide. "His crazy abusive stalker  _what now?_ "

"His- okay, it's a long fucking story, and it's really fucking shitty and awful. It's all kind of coming out now I guess, but he'd probably wanna tell you the whole thing himself."

"I-" Seb shakes his head violently, looking utterly thrown. "I mean I knew he was running from someone, or something- I always thought it was an abusive ex, or a gang-related thing-"

"It's sort of kind of both and sort of neither," Garrett says, releasing Sebastian's shoulders. "But anyway; not your fault. He's not in there because of you. And we've got him a really kickass lawyer-"

"The Spanish guy? I met him. He was the one who got me out, I think- something about not buying enough medication for a proper 'intent to distribute' charge, or something." Sebastian meets Garrett's eyes, no trace of that anger left in his expression, just worry. Fear. "How good are his chances, really?"

"I don't know," says Garrett, and it hurts to admit. "I really have no idea. But if he gets deported like this, it's going to be really fucking bad. That's about all I know. And not just 'getting sent back to America' bad, even though, I mean, that on its own is pretty fucking bad."

Sebastian nods slowly. "Alright. Alright, then. So we're going to keep that from happening."

"That was my thinking," says Garrett. 

He leaves out the part where that thinking stuttered and stalled the more he learned about the system he was up against. He doesn't see how that could help anyone, or improve anything right now.

"If we could make some kind of statement-" Sebastian says, but stops short as an official-looking car pulls into the parking lot.

Garrett stares at the car as it passes them, feeling an icy wave of shock wash over him as he sees the words "BORDER SERVICES" plastered along the side.

He and Sebastian trade an anxious look, and rush back to the station. 

There are two CBSA officers at the front desk when Garrett and Sebastian make it through the doors. They watch as the officers nod at the woman manning the desk and carry on around the corner, presumably through the doors that lead to the rest of the station. 

"They could just be consulting, or- or here for someone else," Sebastian says, though he doesn't sound as though he believes what he's saying.

"You should go home," Garrett says, feeling numb. 

" _What?_ "

"Zev got you out, yeah?" Garrett says quietly, turning to face Sebastion, who just stares at him. "We don't know what's going on in there, or how long it's going to take. I'm pretty sure they didn't spring you so you could linger. I don't know shit about any of this, but I don't know how good it looks for you if you're sitting here waiting for the guy they've accused you of fencing for."

Honestly, he's more worried about Sebastian being readily available for any kind of questioning, when so much of this process seems to hinge on time. He doesn't want to offer these people any kind of convenience, doesn't want to make this easy for them.

Sebastian looks at him a moment longer, then turns away, pinching the bridge of his nose. "You're probably right. I... alright. You have my number."

"I'll keep you updated, I promise," says Garrett. 

Sebastian nods, tight-lipped and pale, before turning and walking away.

-

The next half hour is just as torturous as the last hour was.

A station worker comes over at some point to offer them water, or tea. Her smile is kind, sympathetic, and Garrett has to remind himself that not everyone here is the enemy, even if it fucking feels like it. He and Marian decline both offers, but he tries to be courteous about it.

The only people wandering in and out of the building at this point are officers, occasionally bringing in arrested individuals - most of them clearly charged for "drunk and disorderly"-style offences, with plenty of very obvious drug use and mental illness factors mixed in. Garrett keeps his eyes down; it doesn't feel right to stare at someone during one of their darker moments.

It's because of this that he doesn't notice the newcomer to the waiting area, at first.

"Garrett Hawke, is it?"

Garrett glances up.

The man who spoke stands a metre or two away, looking concerned and gently inquisitive. He's older, maybe his mid to late fifties, with neatly-combed salt and pepper hair (more salt than pepper, really) and a close-cropped beard. His suit is tailored and expensive-looking, his fingers adorned with one or two platinum-looking rings. Garrett's guessing he's a lawyer of some kind, so he gets to his feet, feeling very conscious of his jeans, boots, and plaid. 

"That's me," Garrett says. "What can I do for you?"

" _What can I do for Fenris_ ," is what he really means, and hopes that this guy might be on the same page.  

"Hopefully, help me to resolve things in a way that benefits everyone," says the man, sounding almost relieved. He extends a hand, and Garrett takes it to shake, unthinking. "I wanted to speak to you first, before moving forward. I'm Dan Stanton, Fenris's legal guardian."

Garrett snatches his hand back as if burned. He can't help it; the reaction is utterly instinctual, the shock a live wire sparking every nerve in him. 

"Ah," says Stanton softly - sadly, even. "I see you've heard of me."

Garrett likes to think he's good at reading people. 

If you give Garrett a class of fifteen kids, usually within the hour he'll have them figured out - the vocal students with nothing to say, the vocal students with everything to say, the quiet ones who are smart but shy and the quiet ones who are playing Candy Crush on their phone and wishing they were anywhere but here. He can estimate nearly perfectly from that first day which ones will drop the course, which ones will have that mid-semester breakdown and request extensions on assignments, which ones will actually apply what they've learned in class outside the course and which ones will forget everything they've learned in a week no matter how well they do on the final.

And it's not just students. He likes to think his close friend group is a testament to his judgment of character. Hell, haven't the past six months proved that he knows good people when he sees them? He could see how Dorian looked at Bull that first and only "date" they had together, guessed that they would make a far better match, and he was right. He knew that Merrill, with her positive outlook and boundless energy, could do well in film if she wanted to go that route, recommended her for those first few jobs with Marian, and he was right. 

He didn't know much about Fenris, those first few months, even after they started dating, but it didn't stop him from falling so fucking hard for the man because he knew, somehow  _knew_ , the caliber of Fenris's character - soul, spirit, whatever the fuck you want to call it. He knew. He could tell.

He thought, somehow, that he would know evil if he encountered it. Hadriana was pretty fucking easy to see through, once you got past the fake, simpering empathy and cloying practicality.

Dan Stanton does not seem evil. 

Cruelty and malice isn't written across his face in cragged lines, like Garrett half expected - there are smile lines, and gentle crows feet in the corners of his pale grey eyes. His voice isn't arched and harsh and lofty, but friendly, if a little removed; business casual in audio form, is the best Garrett can think to describe it. 

Garrett shook his hand. Garrett  _shook his hand_ , the hand of the man who'd done all those terrible things to Fenris, is still  _doing_  terrible things to Fenris. Garrett didn't even hesitate. 

And suddenly it all makes a terrifying amount of sense, how Stanton was able to walk into a courtroom years ago, and overturn whatever case Fenris and the detectives who'd been determined to protect him might have built against him. He could have done it with a single, sad smile. 

"What do you want?" Garrett asks, his voice utterly flat. 

"As I said," says Stanton, sounding perfectly reasonable, every word carefully spoken with a horrible kind of empathy. "I want to resolve this matter peacefully, and with as little harm done to all involved as possible." 

"You might have wanted to think twice about calling in border security, if that was your goal," says Garrett.

Stanton sighs. "Please believe me when I say that I did not want to take it this far. I was terrified I might lose Fenris after Hadriana contacted him. I really don't know what she was thinking."

"You were terrified Fen would run from you."

"Precisely."

"Do-" Garrett has to choke back an entirely inappropriate laugh, though the sound is completely devoid of humour. "Do you think there might be one or two reasons  _why_  that would be his reaction?"

"I understand what this must look like," Stanton says, like he doesn't blame Garrett, like he might react the same way if the roles were reversed. "I know there's nothing I could say that would convince you that I am not the man you think I am. Hadriana was... foolish, despite her loyalty, very foolish to try. You have every reason to hate me; at the end of the day, no matter if I were a monster or not, to you I'm just the man who's taking Fenris from you."

The sudden flash of hot anger is utterly blinding - not at the threat, but the fucking implication _._

"I want to make this extremely fucking clear," Garrett says quietly, though the undertone he employs is not by choice - it's a little like a nightmare, like he's trying to scream but this hoarse whisper is all that he can manage. "It would absolutely. Fucking. Matter. If you were a good man. If I truly,  _truly_  believed sending him back to you would be better for him, would be what he wanted, I would do it. In a heartbeat."

Dan tilts his head, looking utterly unaffected by Garrett's rage. "So you say."

And that's when Garrett sees it; small, and so subtle that he's not fully convinced it's really there, and not just something he desperately wants to see, but there is an  _emptiness_  in Stanton's eyes. 

Garrett's so wrapped up in that little void, so determined to know that it's there for sure, that he doesn't even notice that Marian's joined them until she's speaking. "So what do you want from Garrett, then?"

Stanton holds Garrett's gaze a moment longer, then turns his attention to Marian. "You must be the sister."

"Must be," says Marian. 

"Fenris is lucky," Stanton says, smiling, "to have found so many friends here. I'm proud of him."

"You-" Garrett starts, but Marian grabs his arm, grip tight enough to hurt. He shuts his mouth, clenching his teeth tight against the words.

"You must have heard such terrible things about me," Stanton says sadly. "As I said, I cannot convince you otherwise. I could try, if you wanted me to, but frankly I think that would be a waste of both our time, and of Fenris's. So I will not try to change whatever past you have imagined me to be a part of, and endeavour only to try and paint a better future.

"If you stay this course - if Fenris stays this course - it is very likely that it will lead to his full deportation from Canada. What that means-"

"I know what it means," Garrett says shortly. "He won't be allowed to come back."

"Exactly," says Stanton. "Neither of us want that, so there is at least one thing we agree on.

"If Fenris does not fight the departure order he is very likely receiving as we speak, there is a far less complicated legal path for him to return here. It might not even take very long. I only plan to take him back into my custody so he can receive the help he very desperately needs. I have the resources to give him that, and I truly believe that I owe it to him." Stanton looks away, his expression painfully regretful. "I do not deny that I failed Fenris, Garrett. I thought I could support him all on my own, both vastly overestimating my own abilities and underestimating his illness. It is entirely my fault that Fenris has had such a long and terrible journey these past few years, and the weight of that failing has been nearly impossible to bear."

"Sounds tough," Marian deadpans.

"All I want is to help him," Stanton continues, ignoring Marian entirely. "Once he's better, more stable, and if he still wishes to return here, I will not stop him. It would be more gratifying than I have words to describe to see him become his own man. He's like a son to me."

Garrett feels physically sick at that last bit, but he swallows and pushes through his disgust to say, "That still doesn't explain what you want from me."

"It's clear to me that he trusts you," says Stanton. "I'm glad for that. It's been far too long since he's been able to trust anyone. I need you to convince him not to fight this. It will only make things worse, you  _have_  to see that."

"It's Fen's decision," Garrett says, folding his arms to hide his clenching fists. "Like I said, even if I thought you might be Jesus incarnate, it would still be his decision. I'm only here to support him."

"But he can't make decisions for himself, don't you understand? His mind-"

"Works fine. Better than mine, most days."

Stanton purses his lips, showing something close to irritation, or even anger, for the first time. "If you could convince him to at least speak with me-"

"No."

"I am prepared to do whatever it takes, Garrett Hawke," Stanton says, and though he doesn't step forward, he seems to lean into Garrett's space, far too close for comfort. " _Whatever_  it takes to bring him home. Anything for him, to see him safe. As I said, I have resources - if it's money you want, or opportunities-"

"You will not  _buy_  him from us," Garrett says, and judging by the way Marian twitches at his side, she hears it too - that unyielding Malcolm Hawke tone. He's finding that side of himself far quicker, these past few days. "He's not mine to sell you, he's not anyone's _._  If you try to take him, I'm gonna do every last thing in my power to support his fight. He doesn't belong to you."

Stanton gives Garrett's words a little space, if not Garrett himself. Then, quiet enough that Garrett barely hears him, he says, "Wrong."

Stanton finally steps back, and when he looks at Marian and Garrett again, that sad, understanding expression is back in place.

"I'm truly sorry we couldn't come to a better understanding," Stanton says softly. "I wished for a better outcome. I am grateful that you've looked after him for me. Hopefully, you'll come to realize that it's time to let him go before you hurt him any more than you already have."

Garrett reels a little despite himself, Stanton's words landing like a slap.

Without another word (and before Garrett can think of a good retort, fucking unfortunately), Stanton walks away. A large man in a black suit joins him at the end of the line of chairs, though by the way he falls in step slightly behind Stanton, the relationship is clearly "employee," not "equal." Garrett and Marian watch silently as Stanton makes his way up to the front desk, pulling out a slick leather folder of documents that Garrett strongly suspects he's seen before. 

"Come on," murmurs Marian, tugging his arm.

They sit back down, and Garrett is only a little surprised to find that he's physically shaking.

"That's... Jesus, that was not what I was expecting," Garrett says quietly, clasping his hands together. Marian puts a hand on his shoulder. "That was so much worse."

"The Devil's greatest trick was convincing the world he doesn't exist, or whatever," Marian murmurs, her eyes still fixed on Stanton as he speaks to the intake officer at the front desk. She squeezes Garrett's shoulder. "You know, for a moment there you sounded exactly like-"

"I know." Garrett scrubs a hand over his face, tugging anxiously on his beard. "I wish he was here right now, Ri."

"Same." Marian breathes, and turns to Garrett, and despite everything there's a little smile on her lips. "But I mean, you're here, and I'm here. Between the two of us, I'm sure we can muster up a solid Malcolm Hawke impression." 

"I fucking hope so. Dad would've seen right through that guy, yeah?"

"I'd like to think so. Might've taken a moment, though."

"Jesus." Garrett lets himself imagine what it would have been like to be Fenris, a younger Fenris, contending with that friendly voice and empathetic smile, telling him that the things he knew had to be happening were all in his head. Being told that he was too broken to live outside Stanton's hold on him. "I have no fucking idea how Fen made it out of there."

"It makes sense that Stanton wanted to talk to him," Marian says, clearly troubled. "I'm pretty sure he thinks he can talk Fenris around. He might not even be wrong about that."

"We have to warn Fen that he's here," Garrett says, pulling out his phone. Marian looks back over to the front desk. "He wouldn't want to be surprised by-"

"Too late," Marian says. Garrett looks up, and follows her gaze.

Fenris and Zevran have clearly just emerged from the corridor leading to the rest of the station, and have stopped short a few steps from the front desk. Fenris stands stock-still, his eyes fixed on Stanton, who has paused in his conversation with the officer to stare right back at Fenris, his expression unreadable at this distance. Zevran leans over to murmur something to Fenris, and Fenris nods very slightly in response, not taking his eyes off Stanton. 

Very faintly, Garrett hears Stanton say Fenris's name.

Zevran takes Fenris's arm and steers him away, pointing towards Garrett and Marian. Garrett stands.

Fenris's eyes drop to the floor, and he moves, walking towards the exit. Marian presses her car keys into Garrett's hands and he quickly closes the distance between them, meeting him just before the doors. 

They manage to make it to the end of the parking lot before Fenris collapses to his knees, heaving into the sparse grass lining the concrete. Garrett kneels down next to him and wraps an arm around his shoulders, supporting him as he retches, until he seems finished.

"Come on," Garrett says, helping him back up. "The car is just by the sidewalk, we're almost there."

Fenris doesn't seem to hear him, his eyes glassy and dazed. Garrett is half-carrying him by the time they get to Marian's beat-up Corolla, and it's a fumble with the keys to get everything unlocked before he can ease Fenris into the backseat.

Fenris is shaking now, violently enough to look almost epileptic, his breathing harsh and fast, and it's clear by his pale and vacant expression that he's not aware of his surroundings. 

"Okay," Garrett says, more to himself then Fenris. He takes hold of Fenris's wrist, quickly releasing him when Fenris recoils with a pained and terrified sound. "Sorry, shit. Okay. Um."

He looks around for anything that might help, trying to run through what he knows about panic attacks - he's seen a fair few in his time as a brother and a TA for overstressed university kids, but never one like this. 

He finds a wool blanket over the back seat and hauls it out, wrapping it tight around Fenris's trembling frame. Fenris doesn't react much to this, his eyes still unfocused. There are tears starting to spill over his cheeks, but he isn't crying - it honestly seems more an indicator of a complete shutdown, over any kind of singular emotion.

"Hey," Garrett says, rubbing his hands over Fenris's arms as comfortingly as he can. "Fen, it's okay. It's okay."

He speaks to Fenris like this for a while - not really saying much of anything, just to fill the air. It's a terrifyingly long time, an eternity of stretched-out minutes, before he starts to see any kind of improvement.

Eventually, Fenris's breathing slows; not by much, and they still sound like heaving gasps, but at least he seems to be getting some kind of oxygen in. His eyes slowly regain focus, and a moment later, he blinks, and Garrett can see some awareness in them again.

Fenris starts a little, eyes darting about the car before landing on Garrett. 

"It's safe," Garrett says, just to say  _something_. 

Fenris's face crumples, and he shakes his head. 

"No," he says, his voice utterly broken, "It's not."

Garrett catches Fenris as he falls forward into Garrett's arms, hands fisting in Garrett's shirt, and starts to cry in earnest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SO. 
> 
> I actually wrote this chapter directly after the last one about a week and a half ago, and only had to polish it up before posting it, when I realized I wasn't happy with how I characterized Dan(arius). Like, I wrote him how I wrote him in You'll Remember Me, like he's written in the game - cruel, cold, a little foppish, extravagantly Tevinter ("Ahhh, my little Fenris," etc.) It was a fun scene with zingers and one-liners and Dan getting dunked on for being such a fucking obvious Disney villain because if there is anything BioWare is not, it's subtle when it comes to its villains (specifically villains, not "potentially morally ambiguous companion characters" - like I'd count Solas as a villain tbh but that's a story for another day, and yes I do still HC him as Fenris's dad (not in HSG universe) which is ALSO a story for another day). 
> 
> But I wasn't happy with it. It felt really fucking obvious, for one thing. For another, for future courtroom bits, it was hard to imagine people not just looking at Dan and being like "oh wow yeah okay that guy is literally the Devil, case goddamn closed." Which would be way too easy!!
> 
> Also, I already wrote the foppish "See how I glitter"-style Disney villain a few chapters back, and Mahanon punched him in the face. So I mean. Been there, done that, etc.
> 
> So I thought about my own experiences with abusive people - you know, IRL - and I decided that it might be worth it to stretch the canon a bit and write Danarius/Dan COMPLETELY out of character. Like, Jesus, how fucking terrifying would it be if this guy were actually likeable. How fucked up would it be if Garrett shakes his hand before finding out who he is. 
> 
> There is absolutely a place for obvious villains; they're fun and satisfying to write, where you get to imagine all the people who've fucked with you as these overblown caricatures who everyone can agree is an utter twat. Corey Pheus was, no lie, based on MANY experiences I've had with certain B-list actors during my time in film. Sometimes it really just be like that.
> 
> And even Dan as I've written him here has some elements of overblown villainy - the emptiness in the eyes, for example. But I mean, the only difference here between him and some people I've known is that Garrett was looking for the emptiness and saw it for what it was. If you don't know a person, you might see that emptiness and choose to ignore it, the little tingle up your spine that tells you something's deeply wrong. I definitely have.
> 
> Anyway, all this to say, this Dan is going to be pretty much absolutely nothing like the Danarius of DA2, and I hope that's okay. I feel like it's a much scarier choice - I was honestly disturbed while writing him in a way I wasn't before, and Fenris's ensuing panic attack (which did not occur in Draft 1) felt way more real to me as someone who has had that reaction when suddenly faced with a past abuser. 
> 
> As always, thank you thank you THANK YOU for reading and commenting. It absolutely means the world to me.
> 
> Also yay Zevran, am I right??? (There might be a Warden cameo in the next chapter... just sayin').


	35. Many Fucking Meetings 2: Canada Hasn't Updated Some of its Legal Sites Since 2002 So Researching This Chapter Was Fucking Hard

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The chapter title is probably longer than the damn chapter. Oh well. Lots of legal lingo in this little guy though, plus one (or two) cameos...

"The important thing is that Fenris has not been arrested," says Zevran. "That is a small victory, at the very least."

It doesn't feel like a victory. A relief, maybe, but not a victory.

They're at Zevran's apartment - Marian, Garrett, and Fenris - all seated around a sleek black dining room table that Garrett's pretty sure costs more than their entire house in Kirkwall is worth (the house itself, not the property - he's far too aware of the depressing state of Vancouver's housing situation to think otherwise, and knows that each square metre of land within the Metro Vancouver area is worth more than an equal amount of solid gold). The surface is now covered in different stacks of paperwork, neatly piled in front of Zevran and Fenris respectively.

Zevran is an excellent host; there's tea or coffee within everyone's reach, alongside a bowl of cherries (and even that's fucking impressive, given how expensive they are these days). Marian, predictably, is already on her second cup of black coffee. Garrett's slowly sipping through his green jasmine blend. 

Fenris doesn't touch his coffee. His face is grey and haunted, and he's barely said a word since his breakdown in the back of Marian's car.

Garrett ended up driving here, with Marian catching a lift from Zevran, once Fenris was calm enough to shift to the front seat. He asked only a few questions:

"Did he speak to you?"

"Yeah."

"What did he say?"

"The same bullshit." 

(Garrett decided not to mention Stanton's attempted bribery; he could only see it hurting more than it would possibly help or inform.)

"Did you believe him?"

"No."

(This was an easy response, instant. He did not mention shaking Stanton's hand. He did not mention thinking, even for the briefest moment, that Stanton seemed kind. Considerate. Gentle. All that went out the window the moment Stanton told Garrett who he was.)

"He's... charming. Convincing. I wouldn't blame you if-"

"You should, if I did. You absolutely fucking should if I ever doubted you for a second. But I didn't, and I don't."

"Seeing him..."

Fenris never finished the sentence, but Garrett could hear a faltering uncertainty in his voice, and he thought back on Marian's words; that there was a real possibility that Stanton could talk Fenris into going with him. That he could use all those soft words and reap the benefit of the damage he'd inflicted for years to make Fenris doubt his own memories, his own pain and trauma. 

Garrett couldn't think of a way to fix that, to prepare Fenris for it, except to repeat like a mantra: "I believe you."

He'd held Fenris after they parked, awkwardly bridging the gap between the driver's seat and the passenger's seat, seeing the unfocused look in Fenris's eyes and knowing he was falling back into those memories and the accompanying doubts. 

"I believe you," he whispered, again, and again; "I believe you." 

Fenris eventually lifted his head, still ashen, and nodded. 

Now Fenris sits at Zevran's table and quietly signs the forms that Zevran hands him as they talk, shaking his head every once in a while and squinting, frowning as he slowly and carefully reads through every word. The meticulous focus he employs to do so seems to help distract him from whatever might be happening in his head, but even so, Garrett watches him carefully. 

"But he's still being deported," says Marian, who seems to be paying far more attention to the legalese happening than Garrett is, thank God.

"No, not quite." Zevran taps a form in front of him. "Fenris has been dealt a Departure Order; essentially, he's being asked very politely to leave the country in 30 days. Had those bullshit possession charges stuck, we might have been looking at a very different situation. People have been locked up in CBSA holding cells for far less."

"That's that shit that Sta-" Marian cuts herself off with a glance at Fenris, who does not react. "Um, right. Garrett was mentioning that earlier. About the departure thing. I'm assuming there's an appeal process?"

"There is indeed, and both luckily and unluckily for us, it does not operate the same as a normal court proceeding. It is a somewhat informal affair; we file the appeal with the Immigration Appeal Division, and within the next 30 days we will try to convince whatever member is sent to deal with our case that he has a valid claim to stay within the country. A counsel for the Minister of Immigration will also be present, and will act as something of a prosecutor. We provide evidence and witnesses to back our claim, the counsel will provide their own in turn."

"The counsel can bring in witnesses?" Garrett asks, looking up sharply. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Fenris grow still, his careful reading halting.

Zevran steeples his fingers and sighs. "Yes, and it is very likely they will bring in Daniel Stanton to testify."

"Christ," Marian mutters. 

"Can you question witnesses?" Garrett asks. Zevran nods. "Maybe- maybe he'll trip up, admit to being- like, a fucking monster, or something. Fen, you said he had shady business dealings, that's not gonna look good for him-"

"It is likely why he tried to avoid a legal route, yes," Fenris says tonelessly. "However... he is very good in court."

Garrett winces. 

"Unfortunately, it is not enough to prove that Stanton's character is in question," Zevran says. "What we want is for the member to resist the temptation to ship Fenris back across the border, whatever Stanton's crimes, for the legal system to sort out there. This is where the shape of our appeal comes into play; it must be carefully constructed. We need ironclad reasons for Fenris to remain in Canada, reasons that the IAD cannot ignore."

"Marriage? Are we gonna go with the whole  _Proposal_  defence?" Marian says abruptly. Garrett nearly snaps his neck turning to stare at her. "No, hear me out, it's a sponsorship thing, isn't it? Common-law?"

Wildly, Garrett thinks of the ring box stillnestled in his jacket pocket, only a few metres away- 

"Sadly that ship has sailed," Zevran says, offering Marian a small smile. "Such a partnership would have had to have been made legally binding prior to the serving of the departure order for it to be a legal, never mind convincing defence."

"Worth a try," Marian says, sitting back. "I'm guessing you have a tack to take in mind."

"I have some ideas," Zevran says. "There is some precedence for asylum claims in the face of domestic violence. To do so, we must prove three things: That Fenris is part of an oppressed social group, that he has a genuine reason to fear his abuser and the country that allowed the abuse to occur, and that the country in question is unable or unwilling to help him. Granted, this would be much easier if Fenris were seeking asylum from a country that is not America, which is considered a 'safe' country in the eyes of the Canadian government. So we must be very careful in how we frame the argument, and put our emphasis on the  _abuser_ , and his position of power within America as a whole."

"So it does come back to Stanton in the end," Garrett mutters.

"Unfortunately. However, we do have something in our favour. Fenris has already been through the American legal system, and there is proof that it failed him."

"It didn't, though," Fenris says, very quietly. "I... retracted my statement. I essentially ended up testifying on D-" Fenris swallows. "On his behalf."

"You said that it was argued in court that you did not have the mental capacity to testify," Zevran says gently. "We can disprove that, and in disproving it, show that both Stanton and the American legal system were wrong about you with catastrophic results. I have some ideas as to who we might call in to testify on your behalf."

Fenris glances down at the paper in front of him and back up again, a frustrated foreboding on his face. "How do you plan to disprove my legal insanity?"

"A formal psychological evaluation, performed by a neutral third party."

Fenris stiffens. "Is that necessary?"

"It will strengthen our case immensely, so I would say so." Zevran clasps his hands together, his expression not unkind, but his voice firm. "Believe me when I say that I would not suggest such a thing if I thought for a moment that you were  _not_  sane, Fenris. It is hardly within my interest to hand my opponents more ammunition."

Fenris still looks far from happy, but he nods, his lips tight. 

"Should all go ill and we lose this appeal, I would then file to move the case to a federal court," Zevran says. "However, very hopefully it will not come to that. This will hardly be a pleasant process, but the informal structure of the IAD appeal allows us some wiggle room, a little space for improvisation and creativity. These are mediums within which I thrive, if you would be so kind as to not begrudge me a little pride in my work."

"What can we do to help?" Marian asks.

"Quite honestly, very little in terms of legal proceedings," Zevran says. "Many try to overwhelm the member present with an avalanche of character witnesses; there are only so many times that a person can hear how nice someone is before they start to tune it out, so I will be carefully curating who will be presenting during the hearing. We can submit written testimonials separately, and that is where I would encourage something of an avalanche. However," Zevran looks to Garrett, "I will likely ask you to testify on Fenris's behalf. You strike me as someone who might make a very compelling emotional appeal, and should all go well, your sponsorship could eventually be Fenris's path to citizenship.

"For now, the best all of you can do for Fenris is support him. These sorts of cases - and this case in particular - will dive deep into what I imagine are painful memories."

Fenris stares at the table. Marian looks at him, and at Garrett, and finishes off her second cup of coffee in one long gulp.

The sound of the front door opening acts as a welcome distraction. Within moments, a black-haired man in fitted jeans and a leather jacket rounds the corner, his almond-shaped eyes widening a little at the sight of them all grouped around the table. He glances up at Zevran, and signs something at him.

"Apologies," Zevran says, and signs something back in return. The man nods. "Everyone, this is Nico Tabris - I think in all the excitement I forgot to mention I'd be bringing home some guests tonight. He reads lips, so feel free to say hello."

Nico waves.  

"Nice to meet you," Garrett says, as Marian waves back. 

Nico glances briefly at Fenris, who just nods at him in greeting, then back to Zevran, a questioning look on his face as he whips through some more signing. Garrett, not for the first time, finds himself really fucking wishing he'd had the opportunity to take ASL in school. 

Zevran responds, and Nico grins. He gives the table a little thumbs up, and leaves the room.

"So when did you two meet?" Garrett asks, a little delighted despite himself. 

"Sometime in May, I believe," Zevran responds, a knowing smile on his lips as he meets Garrett's gaze. "We get along very well, though as he is often delighted to point out, he is far better at communicating than I am."

"If we're imposing-" Fenris starts, but Zevran waves him off.

"Absolutely not," Zevran says. "In fact, if you are comfortable with it, I was about to suggest you stay in our guest bedroom for the night, Fenris. We will have an early start tomorrow, and quite honestly I think it is safer if you are in a place Stanton cannot easily access. I have some spare... well, pretty much everything, should you need anything, and Garrett is quite welcome to stay as well, if you prefer." 

Fenris glances over at Garrett, asking without asking, and Garrett nods. 

"If that's okay," Garrett says, looking to Zevran. 

"I would not offer if it were not," Zevran says. He looks to Marian, something of an awkward look on his face. "I would extend the same invitation to you, but ah... there is a high chance that Isabela will be arriving sometime throughout the night, and I'm not entirely certain how... comfortable that might be, for both of you."

Marian picks up her mug, frowns as she seems to remember that it's empty, and puts it back down again. "Yep, that's- that's pretty fuckin' fair."

"Well then," Zevran says, picking up another bit of paperwork. "Let's do a little brainstorming, shall we? Iron out some details? Make use of whatever is left of the evening? What better way to spend a Sunday night than by analyzing mind-numbingly boring legal documents?"

"I'm getting more coffee," Marian says with a sigh, and gets up from the table to go to the kitchen for a refill.

-

The guest bed is distractingly plush. 

Distracting, because the moment Garrett curls up under the sheets with Fenris with every intent of launching into providing some kind of comforting speech, the first thing that comes out of his mouth instead is, "Fuck, this is soft."

Fenris, in the process of climbing into the bed with Garrett, pauses to huff what might have been a laugh, on another night. "You're impressed." 

"I mean, a little," Garrett admits. "But fuck like- just lean back for a bit. It's insane."

Fenris flops back onto the mattress, shifting around for a moment before saying, "It is indeed very fucking soft."

"Right?" Garrett rolls onto his side, not reaching for Fenris yet - he's learned it's better to let Fenris come to him, if he's looking for some kind of contact. "Where are you at?" 

 _"Where are you at,"_ because _"how are you doing"_ seems like a really fucking stupid question at this point.

Fenris fists his hands in the blankets and closes his eyes. "It all feels... very familiar, quite honestly. Too familiar." 

"Like with the detectives?" 

"Very much so."

"Maybe Zevran can track one of them down," Garrett says. "They'd be pretty fucking compelling witnesses to a broken legal system."

"I destroyed their case; very likely their careers as well." Fenris sighs. "Even if Zevran could find one of them, I doubt they'd be compelled to do me any favours. I have very much made my own bed in this respect."

"You don't know that," Garrett says. "You were just trying to survive, Fen."

"Perhaps," Fenris says softly. 

He turns then, reaching over to touch Garrett's face, scarred fingers stroking over Garrett's beard.

"If this doesn't work-"

"No, nope, we're not doing that-"

" _Garrett_." Garrett shuts up, and Fenris smiles. "If this doesn't work, if something happens... this has been the best year of my life. The best summer. Thank you for giving me that." 

"Christ." Garrett shifts, pulls Fenris into his arms, kissing his hair, forehead, lips, whatever he can reach. "I plan to give you a lot more than one good summer, Fen. We've still got a shit ton of things to do. Plans. We have plans, okay? Standing indefinite plans. Like travelling, and karaoke, and um- I don't know, have you ever been horseback riding? We could do that."

"Neither of us are exactly wealthy enough for travelling and horseback riding, Hawke."

"We'll figure it out." Garrett takes Fenris's face in his hands. "Fen, you have to believe that this isn't over, okay? And if you can't believe that, I'll believe it for you."

Fenris clasps a hand over Garrett's. "I believe you."

-

It's late when Marian leaves, but early enough (she assumes) to avoid any terribly ill-timed and horrifically awkward confrontations.

She assumes wrong.

It's almost too cliché to be a surprise, stepping out of the elevator and seeing Bela standing there, suitcase in hand. Almost.

They stare at one another for a very long moment. Long enough for the elevator doors to start closing again.

"Fuck," Marian mutters, catching them with her hand. She coaxes the doors open again and steps out. "I... thought you wouldn't be here till morning."

"Technically it _is_ morning," Bela says, her voice carefully light. "How's Fenris?"

"Not great." 

"Understandable."

There's a pause.

"Well," Isabela says, and steps into the elevator.

"Right."

And Marian should leave it there; she should absolutely leave it there. It's one in the morning and there's nothing they could say or discuss that would be productive, or helpful, or healing.

Marian's mouth doesn't seem to get this message.

"You-"

She chokes a bit, but Isabela puts a hand out to hold the door, watching her with a detached expectancy. Marian swallows.

"You just... left," Marian says. "We could have talked about it, we could have- but I came home and you were just gone. You left."

Isabela looks at her for a long time. 

Then, very softly, she says, "Hurts, doesn't it?"

She steps back into the elevator, letting the doors close in Marian's face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *to the tune of all star by smashmouth* aand the pain keeps coming and it don't stop coming and it don't stop coming and it don't stop coming 
> 
> OKAY SO AS ALWAYS; NOTES
> 
> \- I AM NOT AN EXPERT ON ANYTHING AT ALL. My tabs have been taken up with research for WEEKS for the benefit of a few short paragraphs (and I mean the entire arc of the next few chapters buuuut), so I hope I've gotten everything right, but this is by no means like, an academic peer-reviewed government-certified document. I'm sure whatever CSIS agent is tapped into my computer now that I've spent a solid month researching immigration, drug laws, and if it's even possible to sneak over the border for an aborted plan two chapters ago is sitting there going "that's not how this works, FoxNonny, that's not how any of this works..." TOO BAD CSIS AGENT, MAYBE YOU SHOULD GET THE GOVERNMENT TO UPDATE ITS WEBSITE. I'M WORKING OFF INFORMATION THAT'S OLD ENOUGH TO DRINK LEGALLY IN SOME COUNTRIES.  
> \- I nearly wept with joy when I read about the appeal process. Not because it's historically been kind to immigrants and disenfranchised people, but because it put such emphasis on "informality" and bringing "any kind of evidence" to the table, which in terms of plot makes my life so much easier. SLIGHTLY LESS RESEARCH NEEDED ON PROTOCOL. THANK THE LORD.  
> \- Bela's back and I cried a bit because I was listening to sad indie music while writing the scene. If you want feelings for MariBela, especially for upcoming scenes, just.... listen to "Learn to Run" by David Vertesi. It HURTS, and it's Canadian, so yay?
> 
> As always, thank you all so so much for feedback and love on this fic - I really hope the next few chapters deliver. I honestly can't believe it's been over two years since I started this, and I know some of you have been here since the very beginning, and that just absolutely floors me. Thank you. <3


	36. Some (Un)Necessary Preamble

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm posting this on mobile so yikes in advance and I'm sorry if formatting is whack. 
> 
> Also sorry this chapter is so long in coming!! I rewrote half of it when I realized the tone for the thanksgiving bit was off by a mile (goddammit why did Canadian thanksgiving have to fall right in the middle of my goddamn plot -_-)

It's always felt unfair to Garrett, how life refuses to pause when terrible things are happening. 

When Malcolm was sick, even towards the end, the mundanity of day-to-day life did not even so much as slow; there was still school, and soccer practice, breakfast, lunch, and dinner. If anything life moved all too quickly, hurtling them towards the inevitable with barely a moment to breathe. 

No, life did not pause, and life does not pause even now, as Garrett once again faces down the terrifying possibility of losing someone he loves. 

There are still classes to teach, papers to grade, thesis proposals to write. Between this, however, there's appointments and court dates to keep track of, an appeal to write, breakfast, lunch, and dinner. 

Life for Fenris is put somewhat on hold; he gathers up most of his belongings and moves into Zevran's apartment, leaving the basement suite practically empty. He stops working at the coffee shop: No time, somewhat illegal, and too easy for Stanton to find.  Garrett sees him as much as he can, messages him throughout the day when Fenris has the energy to talk. Sometimes he calls, always sounding exhausted, sometimes frustrated and angry, sometimes paranoid, sometimes utterly toneless. 

Sometimes Fenris's fear and anger spills over, his words curt and sharper than they should be. It's hard to hear, sometimes hard to take, but Fenris catches himself before it goes too far. Always apologizes. Always takes some time and space to process, before calling again, trying again, and Garrett makes it as clear as he can that he understands; or, failing understanding, that he knows this isn't who Fenris is. "I'm sorry" and "It's okay" become common exchanges between them, almost in equal measure as to who says what, because sometimes Garrett truly doesn't understand and tries and fails to help in ways that do more harm than good, and Fenris forgives. And Garrett forgives. And so on. 

Life doesn't pause, even if it should, even if the grace of unlimited time could make a world of difference, so they navigate every day as it comes.

And speaking of forgiveness, there's also Isabela.

Garrett grabs coffee with Bela a week after her return, and there's a few moments of stiffness before Bela sighs and leans back in her seat, offering Garrett a raised brow.

"You want to apologize for not telling me," she says, and her tone isn't accusing. Just very matter of fact. 

"I didn't know that she'd decided-"

"But you knew she was thinking about it."

"Yeah." Garrett can't meet Bela's eyes as he says, "I was a pretty shitty friend to you."

"Yes," Bela says. Softly, she adds, "But you were a good brother to Marian. I really can't fault you for that."

Garrett doesn't know what to say to this, so he sips some coffee through the silence instead. Cinnamon latte. Not as good as Fen's.

"I consider our friendship as something that's formed outside my relationship with Marian," Bela says airily, waving a hand. "No matter the outcome. So you don't have to avoid me or pretend I've tragically fallen off the Earth for my sake. I don't know how Marian feels on the subject."

"God, she wouldn't mind, she still l-" Garrett stops, before he can break whatever fragile peace is here. 

"A very good brother," Bela repeats.

-

Life does not pause when shit hits the fan. 

This is a lesson Marian learned pretty fucking early on in life, and she's too tired to feel any real kind of way about it. Too much to do.

She's back in the office on Tuesday and it's a little like how things were during preproduction for the pilot, only better and worse; better, because they know how to work as a team now and what everyone's strengths and weaknesses are and they're not building from the ground up, exactly.

Worse, because they have to incorporate feedback from New York now, as well as LA. Marian can barely even muster up a smirk when Alaine passes her a note from one of the studio execs describing Pheus's turn as the Inquisitor "wooden" and "uninspired." 

Alaine finds Marian in her office by Friday afternoon, a bottle of ice cold and terrifyingly expensive-looking vodka in her hand, two glasses balanced precariously in the crook of her single arm as she toes the door shut behind her. She sets down the vodka and glasses with impressive grace, uncapping the bottle in one sharp flick of her wrist and pouring. 

"Something on your mind?" Alaine asks, pushing a glass over to Marian. She pulls a chair over from the wall and sits opposite Marian before setting about pouring her own.

"A few things," Marian says, knowing full well that bullshitting Alaine is neither wise nor feasible. "Nothing that's gonna affect the production though. I mean- I hope not? It hasn't, has it?"

"No," says Alaine, taking a sip of her vodka without wincing. "But it's affecting you, and you know. I'm a fan of yours, and I want to know that you're doing okay. You seemed pretty rough at the end of the shoot."

Marian picks up her vodka, steeling her tastebuds to live up to Alaine's precedent, and throws half the glass back. Frowns. "This tastes like coffee syrup."

"And?"

"Water, mostly."

"That's because it's good vodka - meant more for sipping than shooting, but honestly for me it really depends on the day."

Marian drains her glass and edges it back towards Alaine who, bless her, fills it back up again. "I don't want to unload on you."

"Please, I'm the one plying you with bougie alcohol. Unload. I'm very curious."

It's another shot of vodka before Marian starts talking, but she does talk. A little.

She mostly keeps it broad - her brother's boyfriend (who, honestly, she's come to think of as a friend herself) is facing potential deportation. Her girlfriend (she almost says "ex," then chokes and bottles out at the last second) is back in town. 

She doesn't talk about how leaving - the act of leaving, the impending move, all of it tied in with the production that Alaine's put so much of her heart and soul into - has fucked things up for her, because she knows at the heart of it, it was never about the move. It was her. Marian. Being an idiot, again. Closing off and shutting everyone out again. She doesn't talk about how Bethany has barely spoken to her since mid-August. How Carver just looks so damn disappointed in her whenever she sees him.

Alaine listens, drinks, and pours, again and again until Marian finishes off with a shrug. "It's been a-"  _Day? Week? Month? Year? Life?_ "-time."

"I'm hearing that," Alaine says, not unsympathetically. "I've got a question."

"Shoot."

"Have you ever considered giving yourself a break?"

Marian blinks. "I just had one."

"Don't fuck with me, Hawke." Alaine taps her vodka glass, leaning back in her chair. "I know there's more than what you're telling me, and that's fine, but I'm hearing a lot of guilt and self-blame. Seriously, do you self-flagellate before bed every night?"

"Only if I'm in the mood."

"Cute."

"Anyway, if I sound guilty, it's not undeserved. I made some shitty choices." Marian tilts her head. "I mean, none that resulted in one of my friends winding up in shit with the CBSA. That definitely wasn't me. But other stuff."

"Sure," says Alaine. "But out of curiosity, what do you think punishing yourself for all that is going to do, long-term?"

"How else am I going to learn? It's called taking responsibility, yeah?"

The look Alaine gives Marian is painfully empathetic. "I used to think so. I wound up falling into this mindset - 'I'm a shitty person, and I need to mitigate my shittiness. If I fuck up I need to remind myself over and over that I'm the fucking worst until I stop spilling my shit everywhere.' But that didn't work. Wanna know why?"

"You're not a shitty person," Marian says, a little stupidly - not as an answer to Alaine's question, but just stating a fact. She blames the vodka.

Even so, Alaine makes a little "ta-da" motion with her hand. "Exactly. I'm not a shitty person. So when I fuck up, it's not me as a shitty person being back on my shit, but me as a decent person fucking up, as decent people do.  _That's_  taking responsibility. Writing yourself off as a shitty person is way too fucking easy. I can say with some fucking confidence that you're not a shitty person."

"I'm not a good person," Marian mutters, and it's a weird fucking thing to admit to her boss, but she blames the vodka again and thinks that maybe it's not a terrible thing for Alaine to know before committing to working with her for however many years.

"I don't know too many good people who think of themselves as good people," Alaine says. She shakes her head. "Well, that's not fair - some people have different philosophies on it, and that's well and fine, if it works for them. Me, I think labelling myself as 'good' is a finishing statement when it should be a lifelong goal. Good is something you do, not who you are, just like fuck ups are something you do, not who you are."

Marian absorbs this for a moment, then raises her eyebrows. "Does this philosophy extend to Pheus-?"

"Absolutely fucking not. Fucker punched my little cousin in the face. There are exceptions to every rule."

"Sure." Marian smiles a bit, and toasts Alaine. "Thanks, by the way."

"It's called employee management, or something," Alaine says, toasting Marian back. "Or 'I wanted to get a bit pleutered at four in the afternoon.' One of the two."

"Let's call it both." Marian downs the rest of her vodka and puts down the glass, thinking. "How is Mahanon, anyway? I haven't drunk texted him in a while."

Alaine grins. "Apparently he made some kind of promise to  _someone_  about auditioning for any show that Marian Hawke is working on."

"That's a good damn promise. Props to whoever made him make it."

"Of course. Well, in light of this, he's gotten back in contact with his UK agent and lo, we have received an audition reel." Alaine sits back, looking deeply satisfied and more than a little relieved. "There are still several rounds of casting to go of course, people to talk to, but... it's looking pretty damn good for him, and us."

"I remember a long time ago some genius saying he'd be good for a certain role."

"Props to whoever predicted that, I suppose?"

"I'd say so."

When Cullen finds them an hour later, they're both drunk and laughing over cat videos. Despite everything, it ends up being a good day.

-

Garrett stays over at Zev's, the night before Fenris's psych evaluation. 

Fenris is wound up tight as a guitar string and seems just as likely to snap at any moment. There isn't much he can do to prepare other than let Zevran walk him through it, so Garrett sits at his side and listens. Resists the urge to wrap Fenris in a tight hug and, fuck, he doesn't know, he's had to come to terms with the fact long ago that there are some things he can't shield Fenris from. A lot of things. Borderline most things, in fact. But it doesn't kill that urge. 

"The important thing is to be honest," Zevran is saying, and Garrett tunes back in, putting his own thoughts aside. "We do not have to prove that you are one hundred percent mentally healthy, only that you are well enough to look after yourself and sane enough to testify."

"And if it turns out that I'm neither of those things?" Fenris says, a sardonic edge to his voice. 

"Then I will eat one of my shoes, for one thing," Zevran says with comforting confidence. "For another, we will figure out another tack if that is the case."

Fenris doesn't seem satisfied with this response, and falls back against the stupidly chique and comfortable leather couch he and Garrett are sharing, his mouth twisted in a grimace. 

"There is something else I wanted to mention," Zevran says, picking up a tablet from the coffee table and quickly logging in. "Unrelated to the psychological evaluation. I wanted to show you a picture of someone, to see if you might recognize them."

Fenris frowns. "Who, and why?"

Zevran hands Fenris the tablet. "I think you'll understand in a moment."

Fenris stares suspiciously at Zevran a moment longer, then looks down. His sharp intake of breath is just short of a gasp and his eyes flare wide at whatever - or whoever - he's seeing. 

Garrett looks over. 

The picture on the tablet is an official-looking one, some kind of portrait, and it only takes Garrett a few seconds to realize he's looking at an American police officer. It's hard to tell her age, but Garrett would guess mid-forties at most; her skin is deep dark and smooth, hair hidden under the police cap save for the close-cropped kinky curls around her ears. There's a stern look about her expression, but her large brown eyes have a certain kindness, even in the impersonal setting of the portrait. 

"You know her, then?" Zevran asks gently.

Fenris nods, just once. "I... did. Detective Allenord." A pause, then he adds, "Nadiyo."

"Correct," Zevran says. "I did a little digging, and managed to find some names attached to your case in New York. It seems as though most of the officers involved no longer work for the department."

"That would be my fault," Fenris says, a familiar look of pain and guilt crossing his face.

"Stanton's fault, not yours," Zevran says. "At any rate. Of those names, she's the only one I've been able to track down so far. I wanted to confirm her connection to you before sending her an e-mail." 

Fenris looks up sharply. "I- we shouldn't bother her with this." 

"I don't think it would be bothering," Zevran says, reaching across and taking his tablet back. "I think it would just be asking."

"Asking her to help a man who ruined her career," Fenris says, his voice hard. "She already tried to help me. Put everything on the line to help me. I can't ask her to do that again."

"Think of it this way," Zevran says. "This gives her another chance to bring Stanton to justice, no? That's why the department took an interest in you to begin with."

But Fenris shakes his head, hands clenched into fists. "I can't. I just- I can't do that. I will not."

"Fenris, she may be one of your best chances-"

Fenris stands abruptly, eyes fixed to the floor. "I'm sorry, I- I think that's enough for tonight."

He walks out of the living room, and a moment later, Garrett hears the door to the guest bedroom shut with a little more force than might be necessary.

Zevran sighs, putting his tablet to one side. "I was afraid he might react this way. They say fear is the great paralyzer, but in my experience, guilt is a far stronger force."

"You really found her, though?" Garrett asks. "One of the detectives who helped Fen?"

"Believe me, it was not easy," Zevran says. "As I said, it seems there was something of a purge within the department after the case was dismissed. From there, those who were let go seemed determined to disappear, probably with good reason. Allenord was a lucky find indeed."

Garrett bites his lip. "It would add a lot of credibility to the case, huh? Prove that the American legal system couldn't protect him?"

"Precisely."

Garrett rubs his temples for a moment, then gets to his feet. "I'll go talk to him."

"I'm sure I do not need to say this, but... gently, I think," Zevran says. "As gently as you can. Pushing will only make things worse."

Fenris is pacing when Garrett enters the guest room. He's been pacing a lot, these days.

"You're gonna wear a track in the carpet," Garrett says. "Happened to a friend of a friend of mine. Paced so much, he wore it down right through the floorboards. Fell into the centre of the Earth. Never saw him again."

"You're rambling," Fenris mutters, more an observation than an accusation.

"I usually am." 

Garrett takes a seat on the bed, watching Fenris work off whatever frenetic energy seems packed into his slight frame right now. His gaze wanders; the room is far more lived in than it was two weeks ago when they first slept here. It's clear that Fenris is trying to keep things in order as a guest in someone else's home: The closet doors are half open, revealing a pile of clothes tucked away inside. Forms are scattered over the top of the chest of drawers, and there's one or two stray socks here and there, as well as a black, lacey bra.

Garrett's brain stutters a bit at that, but it eventually clicks. "Bela's been crashing in here too, huh?"

Fenris pauses in his stride, turning to look at Garrett, eyes searching Garrett's face. Whatever he finds there, he seems satisfied enough to respond. "Some nights, yes. We've had... a lot to talk about."

"I'm glad," Garrett finds himself saying. Fenris tilts his head. "I mean it, I'm really glad you two are close. I know she's going through some shit right now and she's not exactly the most, like, 'openy-uppy' person I've ever met. Neither are you, for that matter."

Fenris snorts, but there's no humour in the sound. "I'll be getting very 'openy-uppy' to a room of strangers in a few weeks."

"You know what I mean." Garrett pats the bed beside him. "Absolutely no pressure, but if you wanted to practice getting 'openy-uppy'..."

"Would it stop you from saying 'openy-uppy?'"

"It might."

Fenris hesitates a moment, then steps over to Garrett and takes a seat. They sit in silence for at least a minute. 

"It was... not that long ago, I suppose, but it feels like a fucking lifetime," Fenris starts slowly. "Do you remember one of our first conversations? You were-" Fenris pauses here, giving a short exhalation that sounds almost like a laugh, "-on one of those stupid fucking dates Isabela set you up on. The Quebecois man."

"How can I  _forget?_ " Garrett can't help but laugh a little himself at the memory, though Fenris is right - it really does feel like a fucking lifetime since that day. "I remember. That was the day I tried asking you out for the first time."

" _Tried,_ no. Hinted at, more like."

"You were picking up what I was putting down, don't deny it."

"I won't if you never use that expression again."

"You're constantly trying to limit my vocabulary. Stifle my linguistic creativity. Bind my verbosi-"

Fenris puts a hand over Garrett's mouth, and Garrett stops, but it's nice to see Fenris smiling again. His smiles are few and far between these days, and Garrett's pretty sure he hasn't heard him laugh since this all started. 

Since he saw Stanton.

"You remember," Fenris affirms, and Garrett nods. Fenris lowers his hand. "We talked about languages. French."

"You spoke some- uh, Creole?"

Fenris nods, and his voice is soft when he speaks again. " _Koman ou rele? Ki kote ou sòti? '_ What's your name? Where are you from?' Allenord taught me those, and a few others. She was an immigrant too; like me, she came to America when she was very young. When I wouldn't answer those questions in English, I heard her murmur them to herself in Créole, and I asked what language it was. She taught me how to ask the questions I wouldn't answer in her language, I taught her how to ask them in Urdu. Eventually, I told her. 'Leto Mirani.'" Fenris shakes his head. "It does not sound like my name, but it was what they needed to track down my identity. Who I was, before I became... this." Fenris thrusts his arms out, showing his tattoos. " _His_."

Garrett doesn't reach to touch Fenris, as much as he wants to soothe. Instead he asks, "Where did 'Fenris Awan' come from?"

Fenris drops his arms, taking in a long, unsteady breath. "'Awan' was my mother's maiden name, I... think. I think it was. Dan called me 'Fenris' - no surname, nothing, like a  _pet_." The last word is nearly spat out, the hurt and rage in Fenris's voice cutting at Garrett's heart. "It's a fucking miracle I remembered that I had a name before him. I've changed my last name several times since running from him. After Seb found me, set me up with something like a  _life_  here, I wanted a last name that reflected something from before him. Anything. But I couldn't be Leto... I don't remember what being Leto was like, not really. For better or for worse, I'm Fenris now."

Garrett breathes, conscious of every sound - it wouldn't be fair for him to show the turmoil this throws him into, remembering every time he's ever said Fenris's name, called to him with it, whispered it lovingly into his ear, all the while not knowing it was yet another mark Fenris's abuser left on him. It wouldn't be fair, because no matter what he's feeling right now, whatever pain it's causing... he can't imagine the amplitude of living that reality. How much more it would hurt to  _be_  Fenris. 

"If you want me to call you something else-"

"No," Fenris says firmly. "No. It's mine now. He might have given me the name, but I've taken it for myself. It's not his anymore."

"Okay." Garrett clasps his hands together and says, "Allenord."

"Yes." Fenris closes his eyes. "Nadiyo. That's her first name. She told me what it meant after I started opening up. 'We'll tell 'em.' It was an apt name for someone so dedicated to justice. She was... kind, and she did not have to be. I never felt as though she was faking that kindness to get to Dan, either - I was so used to that, people acting nice because there was something to gain by it. It didn't seem like she cared too much about his business practices; she heard about-" Fenris pauses to breathe, "-I don't know how she heard about it, honestly, but she heard about Dan's other indiscretions. Him and his friends. I was far from their only victim. Once she realized how deeply I'd been... involved, in that, she was determined to make me understand what was being done to me. That it was wrong."

Fenris opens his eyes again, but does not look at Garrett. 

"I didn't just fuck myself over when I caved to Dan," Fenris says. "Not just the detectives. Every other person those people abused, used as their playthings- some of them were so fucking  _young_ , and I still remember-" Fenris grasps at the bed, as if to ground himself, and says, "I hurt them too."

"No you didn't." It's too quick, too confident, and Garrett feels a flash of heat from Fenris as he flinches at Garrett's words. "Sorry, it's just- you didn't do that. It wasn't your responsibility. None of it was."

"You don't understand. I had a chance-"

"To bring down a group of one-percenters' trafficking ring singlehandedly? If there was a chance for that, it was slim. Anyone who blames you for what those fuckers did to you and other people is dead wrong."

" _I_ blame me."

"Well you're  _wrong._ "

Fenris rakes a hand through his hair, caving in on himself a bit - pulling away from Garrett. "You don't understand," he says again.

"I don't- you're absolutely fucking right, I don't. But tell me something; how long were you with those detectives?"

Fenris grinds his teeth a bit then says, "Five months, I think."

"And- correct me if my math is fucked, but Stanton had you for  _eight years_  before that. You were never going to unlearn everything he did to you in five months, Fen, and if they expected you to, they were wrong." Fenris doesn't respond, so Garrett continues. "I wasn't there, so I have no fucking idea, but from what you told me... it sounds like they had plans - maybe long-term plans - to build a case that didn't  _just_  rely on you. Then Stanton showed up and they had to improvise, and they put too fucking much on you, and they lost. You didn't  _fail_  them, Fenris, and you didn't fail her. The system failed  _you._ "

Fenris's voice is very quiet as he says, "I could've-"

"Maybe.  _Maybe_  you could have. But you don't know what would have happened if you had testified for them, Fen. They might have lost the case anyway, and you might never have gotten away from him in the end. You  _survived._ I doubt, I really fucking doubt, that if this officer is as kind as you said she is, that she would resent you for surviving."

Fenris hangs his head, both hands clasped over the nape of his neck, his face hidden by his elbows. "I fucking hate this."

"Completely fucking reasonable."

"I thought... once or twice, I really thought I'd managed to outrun it all," Fenris says bitterly. "It was never gone, but far enough behind... and now so many people are getting dragged into it, I- I never wanted that. Why couldn't he just  _leave me alone?_ I never asked for this, I never did  _anything_  to him, I-"

Fenris stops short, visibly dragging in a long breath and letting his hands fall to his sides, clenched into tight, shaking fists. 

"Zevran says the most difficult part for me will be controlling my anger in court," Fenris says, his tone strained, that rage still licking at the words. "Any other reaction will read as far more sympathetic; if I'm composed, if I'm afraid, if I'm crying and  _tragic_ , that's all fine. Harder to empathize with anger, with truly, deeply wanting someone to pay for what they did."

"This has nothing to do with me," Garrett says carefully, "But for what it's worth, it's- good to see you angry."

Fenris makes a disbelieving sound. "Good?" 

"Yeah, and fuck anyone who says otherwise - you deserve to be angry, Fen. He hurt you. You should be angry about it. If it doesn't read well in court, like - fuck them, for one thing, but... I'm never going to fault you for being angry. Because it shows that you know what he did was wrong."

Fenris doesn't relax, exactly, but there's definitely some sort of release in his shoulders, his hands unflinching. "I can't be angry forever."

"No, but every emotion has a function, yeah? I think anger is part of it. Maybe a necessary part."

Fenris seems to think this over, his face drawn up in pensive lines. Then he turns, resting his forehead against Garrett's shoulder, eyes closed. "I... don't want to think about this anymore. Not until after tomorrow. If it turns out I'm functionally sane, then- then maybe. Maybe we can contact Nadiyo." 

Garrett twists to wrap his arms around Fenris, pulling him into a tight hug. "You're brave as fuck, you know that?" 

"No, but I'll take your word for it." Fenris swallows. "Distract me. Please."

"Okay." Garrett thinks for a moment, then says, "Have you been keeping up with the US election-?"

"If you start talking about Trump I will absolutely hurt you. Not on purpose. It would be completely reflexive."

"Fair enough, but... I mean did you hear what he said about-?" Fenris growls, and Garrett relents. "Alright, fair enough. I mean if he did win it would definitely give you another reason to be granted asylum- no, don't pinch me, I'm changing subjects. Um. Do you want to hear more dumb student stories?"

"I'm partial to those."

"Okay, there we go. So there's this one kid in my class who thinks I can't tell that he's on his DS at the back of the class..."

-

   

**From: Fen <3**

Done.

 

**To: Fen <3**

how was it???

 

**From: Fen <3**

Unpleasant. I handed in all those stupid questionnaires and tests only to have the psychologist ask me essentially the same questions over again, only more probing. Why he needed to know so much about my sex life, I can only guess. 

 

**To: Fen <3**

christ that's awkward

 

**From: Fen <3**

"Would you consider yourself manically addicted to sex" was my favourite one.

 

**To: Fen <3**

I don't know enough about psychology to be sure but I'm gonna blame Freud for that bullshit. When do you hear back?

 

**From: Fen <3**

I go in for brain scans tomorrow which will then be sent to him, so we'll have a full assessment after that. A week, maybe two.

 

**To: Fen <3**

that's cutting it close to the trial... is it a trial? it fucking feels like a trial.

 

**From: Fen <3**

Officially it's a "hearing". Unofficially it's a fucking trial. 

 

**To: Fen <3**

fuck.

 

**To: Fen <3**

I know you wanted the results back first but... have you thought about contacting allenord anyway?

 

**From: Fen <3**

Yes.

 

**To: Fen <3**

you have??

 

**From: Fen <3**

I've thought about it. I have not told Zevran to do it.

 

**To: Fen <3 **(Draft)

I know you don't want to hear this but she really is your best chance to

 

**To: Fen <3 **(Draft)

you don't have a lot of time left and the longer you wait

 

**To: Fen <3 **(Draft)

you're absolutely 500% not legally insane and even if you were

 

**To: Fen <3**

I'm with you whatever you decide to do, just let me know if you need anything, or if I can help

 

-

**To: GH** (Draft)

I know it's irrational not to contact her but what if I'm

 

**To: GH** (Draft)

If you'd seen the way that doctor looked at me you'd understand why I

 

**To: GH** (Draft)

I wish I'd taken you up on that offer of running to Yellowknife or the Maritimes or

 

**To: GH**

Thank you. You're already doing more than enough. 

-

Garrett clean forgets that Thanksgiving is a thing that exists, until it's the second Sunday of October and he's driving Marian and Bethany to Ladner in stiff silence. The sisters have barely spoken to one another since August, and while the quiet isn't fully hostile, it isn't very friendly. Bethy favours the silent treatment as an approach to conflict; Marian hates it. Garrett puts on Bon Iver and switches to something less soothing when Marian cuts him a dirty sidelong look. 

The dinner itself isn't much better. Neither Fenris nor Bela are there - Fenris, because he's afraid of leading Stanton to Garrett's mother's house (though Garrett has a sneaking suspicion that Stanton's team already knows who his mother is and where she lives), Bela... for obvious reasons. Carver and Bethy keep Leandra entertained, but it's still a somewhat stiff affair. 

There's a part of Garrett, a small part, that wishes his mother would take him aside and ask how he's doing. How Fenris is. He knows she's at least nebulously aware of what's happening. 

But as the oldest male in the family, Leandra doesn't... she's never really been the type of mother to do that for him. Not when Malcolm died, and he stepped in as a stand-in parent for his three siblings. Not when Marian left for the island and barely called. Not when Wesley died. The closest she came to that sort of mothering was when Sebastian left, and even then she seemed far more upset that her vision of a future perfect son-in-law was shattered over Garrett's heart. He's long since accepted this about his mother, and he tries not to ask for much in knowing this. It doesn't make it easier.

Garrett compensates by drinking after Marian squeezes his arm and offers to drive them home.

So it is that he's a few glasses in as he's washing up, and Leandra comes to lean up against the counter nearby, watching him closely and very clearly fretting.

_I can't_ , he thinks, willing her to leave.  _I can't do this right now, don't make me-_

"I'm worried about your sister," Leandra says lowly.

Garrett places a cutting board in the drain tray, gripping the sponge in his other hand a little too tightly. He bites back nearly three decades of buried -  _deeply_  buried - resentments to muster up a single "Oh?"

"I'm worried about all of them, really, what with everything that's going on," Leandra says, seemingly oblivious to the careful way Garrett's cleaning now, meticulous in his every move. "Bethy is so upset that Mary's leaving, maybe I should have just told her when she first brought it up- and of course with everything with Bela, I really don't know where your sister's mind is at, though I suppose we saw that coming from miles away. I was really hoping that Carver would bring his girlfriend tonight, just to lighten the mood-"

Garrett drops the knife he's cleaning, just managing to avoid nicking his finger on the blade as it clatters in the sink. "Girlfriend?"

"Yes, Merrill- you didn't know?" There's an edge of disapproval in Leandra's voice.

 

Garrett picks up the knife and rinses it under the hot water, quickly backtracking. "No, uh- I mean I know Merrill, and I know she and Carver were- but I didn't know they were actually- huh."

Leandra clicks her tongue, and he can see her folding her arms out of the corner of his eye. "Honestly Gary, I know you have a lot on your plate right now, but I hope you're not forgetting to put some time aside to keep up with your own family."

Garrett adds the knife to the drain tray, pulls a pot into the sink under the steaming hot stream of water, adds a healthy squirt of dish soap, and finds himself saying matter-of-factly, "Fenris's appeal is this Thursday."

Leandra sighs. "Is it?"

"Mm." 

Garrett's on autopilot now, even as part of him starts thoroughly reaming him out for bringing it up, because fuck if twenty-eight years as Leandra's son hasn't taught him not to walk into conversations exactly like this one. Conversations where he'll hope for her to say what he knows he'd say to his kid, only to hear something hurtfully different and disappointing come out instead. Conversations that are practically an exercise in masochism. He fucking  _knows_  better. 

But he's had a few, and his ears are ringing, and his mother is standing there treating him the same way at twenty-eight as she did when he was twelve, because she can't seem to wrap her head around the idea that he might have struggles, and feelings, and hurts, that he might just want her to be his  _mom_ , because then she wouldn't be able to see him as the family emotional support and it-

He breathes, clutching the handle of the pot tightly, realizing a little belatedly that Leandra is speaking to him.

"...might be a good time to let go."

For a wild moment, he thinks she means the pot. He looks at her. "Let go of- what, sorry?"

Leandra pushes greying strands of hair from her face, lips thin. "Look, I understand how you feel about Fenris. I like him myself, he seems like a fine young man. But all this, what he's mixed you up in-"

"He hasn't mixed me up in anything."

"Maybe not on purpose. But this is  _his_  fight, not yours, and quite frankly he knew what the risks were when he decided to come to this country the way he did-"

Garrett's always hyperaware of his size and his masculinity when he gets upset, especially with people he cares about - he's not one for yelling or throwing things, knowing how it could hurt and intimidate those around him coming from someone who looks and sounds like him. He usually stays very quiet, and calm, even if it kills him, and failing that, he'll leave until he can cool off and find that calm again.

It's a testament to how deeply the words cut, how much they disappoint, that Garrett doesn't bother finishing with the pot or shutting off the water before tossing the sponge aside and leaving the room.

-

The ride back to Kirkwall is silent this time - no music, no awkward chatter. If Marian and Bethany are still glaring at one another, Garrett doesn't know or care. 

" _Quite frankly he knew what the risks were when he decided to come to this country the way he did._ "

It's such a simple opinion. Occam's razor applied with broad, cutting strokes and no finesse, no touch of empathy or nuance. No need to question any deeper.

He imagines, despite having spent weeks trying to avoid imagining similar scenarios, what might be said to him if Fenris is forced to leave. How many people would assume that Fenris brought this on himself? How many would shake their heads sympathetically, but ultimately shrug shoulders and tell him well, it's the US, only one border away, at least he could visit if he wanted, because they refuse to take the cognitive leap and surmise that someone willing to risk this kind of situation to stay in Canada might do so for some really fucking legitimate reasons? 

How many would  _care_?

It's one mindfuck of a rabbit hole to go down, and by the time they get home, he's well and truly ready to just go straight to bed. 

He doesn't notice the extra cars in the driveway, or the multiple voices coming from the house, until he's following Marian and Beth into a packed living room. 

There isn't a single sitting area free for taking, and floor space is pretty scarce too. Garrett blinks as he looks around, taking in the sight of... fuck,  _everyone._  

Varric sits with a laptop open on the coffee table, busily typing away. Aveline and Don one end of the couch, Karl at the other end with Anders perched on the armrest beside him. Merrill sits on the floor next to Carver, who somehow beat them here, the two of them poring over papers. Fucking  _Sebastian_  is in the armchair, scribbling something in a notebook, every once in a while absent-mindedly petting Kitty on the head - Kitty has her head in Sebastian's lap, having clearly missed him. The cats have taken up their usual lounging positions in the nearby cat tree, and even Archie is out of his terrarium, sitting on the coffee table and watching the gathering with lizardy interest.

Garrett stares, trying to wrap his head around the scene. Merrill looks up, and gives him a little wave.

"Hello, Mr Hawke!" she says, with her usual cheer. 

"Um," says Garrett, and clears his throat. "What, uh... the fuck?"

"Your sister called us all in," says Aveline. Garrett looks to Bethany, who shakes her head, looking equally stunned. "We want to compare our statements, make sure we're tackling this from as many sides as possible."

"Statements-" Garrett stops short as it hits him. "You're- you're all writing statements? For Fenris?"

"I have a few from Fenris's coworkers and employers," Sebastian says, holding up a folder. "As well as some members of the church. I printed them out so you can look over them, but I've sent the digital copies to Varric for editing."

"Though as my editor will tell you, just because I write books for a living doesn't mean I can edit for shit," Varric mutters. "Still, happy to take a look for internal consistency, get the emotional drive going..."

"He's our friend too," Merrill says, lifting her chin. "I mean, I don't know him as well as some of you, but if there's anything we can do to keep him here, we're going to do it."

Garrett's hand comes to his mouth, and he turns to Marian, who shrugs. "It just seemed like the thing to do."

"Thank you," Garrett tries to say, but the words are voiceless as he chokes on a lump in his throat. He turns to everyone else, swallowing first before saying again, "Thank you. I... fuck, just  _thank_  you."

"Thank us by refilling the pretzels," Carver says, leaning over to push an empty bowl over to the edge of the coffee table. "We're working."

Garrett picks up the bowl, beaming and teary-eyed and his heart full to bursting. "Does anyone want to hear a long and thematically appropriate Thanksgiving speech, or-?"

He's booed out of the living room, but it doesn't wipe the smile from his face.

-

Marian's in the laundry room hauling out some dusty bottles of wine for the sort-of party happening in the living room when the door opens behind her. She looks around to see her sister standing in the doorway, arms folded, amber eyes trained on the ground.

Marian lifts an eyebrow, but returns to the task at hand. "I promise I'm leaving your reds alone, just grabbing some of the fancy stuff from last year's Okanagan trip."

"I'm not-" Marian hears Bethany breathe, then say, "I don't understand you."

Marian turns, a bottle of wine in each hand. "Okay?"

"You do such selfish shit, so I don't expect anything from you, but then- then you do shit like  _this_ , and I start to think..." Bethany looks up, eyes wet. "But you're leaving, so it doesn't matter, does it?"

Marian clenches her jaw for a moment, then says, "I'm moving to the UK, Bethy, I'm not sailing into the West. Planes exist."

"Don't do that, don't-" Bethany rubs her arms. "I'm trying to say something."

"I'm listening."

"I'm saying- I'm saying I don't want to miss you." Bethany presses her lips together, then adds, "But I will."

Marian doesn't know what to say.

So instead, she closes the distance between them with a step, puts the wine down and pulls her little sister into a tight hug. Bethany sniffs and tucks her head into Marian's shoulder, leaning into her embrace. 

"I'm sorry for being a shit," Marian says, quietly. Sincerely.

"I'm sorry for taking it personally," Bethany says.

They stay like that a moment longer, then Marian steps back, taking Bethany by the shoulders.

"Between now and then, we've got to get Garrett through this, yeah?" Marian says. "All of us - you, me, Carver - no matter what ends up happening. He's going to need us."

Bethany nods, her eyes still damp, but her expression fiercely determined. "We'll be there."

-

_...as is clearly exhibited in the following documents, Mirani does not suffer from psychosis, nor any other kind of delusion-inducing mental illness that would make him unfit to stand trial. The brain damage is a concern and has certainly affected some memories, particularly those prior to the incident that resulted in the injury to begin with, but does not seem to have impacted his ability to understand and process the world around him as well as any other reasonable adult would. If I were his doctor, I would certainly recommend medical aid to treat what strikes me as PTSD and several comorbid mood disorders, but unless we're going to start barring people from the courtroom for dyslexia, I see no reason why any doctor would see this man as unable to speak and advocate on his own behalf, never mind deeming him legally insane. This is very clearly a person who can think and act for himself. The idea that he would need a legal guardian is, to me, completely absurd._

_Mirani is forthright and honest when he speaks. My personal recommendation is that you listen when he does._

_Signed,_

_Florian Phineas "Finn" Horatio Aldebrant, PhD_

_-_

If Garrett thought that having Fenris's sanity officially confirmed by a professional psychologist would bring Fenris peace of mind, it was very quickly apparent that he was mistaken. Fenris barely mentioned the report when he received it, only to tell Garrett that he had it, and that it would be useful - nothing more. 

He doesn't know if Fenris changed his mind about contacting Allenord after receiving the evaluation, and at this point, he's certain it would do more harm than good to ask.

Garrett reads it for the first time two nights before the start of the hearing, as Zevran compiles all the evidence in support of their case, waiting for the counsel to send their evidence against Fenris to him. Garrett's shaky on the legal details, but he's morbidly curiously to see what kind of "evidence" Stanton has helped the counsel cook up. 

"This is really good, Fen," he says softly, once he's finished reading the psychologist's statement. He puts the packet aside - it doesn't seem right to go probing any further into brain scans, charts, and surveys. 

Fenris' lips thin. "I suppose."

"You don't seem happy."

Fenris glances over at Zevran, who sits opposite them, a short cup of espresso at his elbow and his attention fixed on his laptop. Then Fenris gets to his feet and walks over to a sliding glass door leading to a small balcony, slipping through. Garrett follows.

The very last glow of twilight is on the horizon, the city lights sparkling bright around them and echoed across the water. Any other night, Garrett might find it romantic. But right now he's far too focused on the man at his side to take much notice of the view. 

"What's going on?" 

Fenris props his elbows on the railing of the balcony, and though he's looking out over the city, he doesn't seem to be taking it in. 

"It's moronic," he says shortly. Before Garrett can say anything, he continues. "There was... a part of me. A small part, but even so. A part of me that thought it... it might have been better, if I was insane. If I'd made it up, if I could tell myself that it never happened."

Fenris drops his head. "But according to that report, whatever my faults and shortcomings, I'm perfectly sane. Which means that the world, quite frankly, is entirely insane. There was a part of me that hoped for a different explanation, but... it happened. All of it happened. And there's no pretending that it didn't, now.

"Don't misunderstand me, I'm relieved to know that I can trust my own testimony. But... it might have been nice, to think I lived a different life from what I remember. Is that wrong?"

"Fen-" Garrett starts, only to be interrupted by a call from within the apartment. 

Fenris and Garrett trade a look, and go back inside.

They enter the living room just as Zevran sets out three glasses, an expensive-looking crystal liquor bottle in his left hand. His mouth is pulled tight in a grimace as he pours generous helpings of what Garrett assumes is some kind of scotch in each glass, pushing them to Garrett and Fenris as they take their previous seats.

"Drink that," Zevran says, taking a healthy swig of his own glass. "There is a thing you need to know." 

"Zev, you're not giving off the most reassuring vibe right now," Garrett says. Fenris leaves his whiskey untouched, frowning at Zevran.

Zevran looks at both of them, sighs, and pinches the bridge of his nose. "I know. There is really no way to soften this - Fenris, do you know of a young woman named Varania?"

Fenris stiffens at Garrett's side. "I- she's... that's my sister's name."

"She's here in Vancouver," Zevran says. "Stanton has flown her in. She will be acting as a witness on the counsel's behalf."

Fenris says nothing for a long moment.

Then, simultaneously, he and Garrett reach for their respective whiskeys, and down them in one.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HA HA HA HA HA MAN THE NEXT TWO CHAPTERS ARE GONNA BE :D FUN
> 
> Thank you thank you thank you to everyone for sticking with me this far, and to some new readers who've just been?? So wonderful?? A special shout out to mumblingelf who's been drawing amazing goddamn art that I've snuck into some older chapters - PLEASE check them out on Tumblr, her work is amazing and I'm just ajsjakahskj about it.
> 
> Also all my love to lunaahawke right now - if you see this I love you and I'm sending you giant hugs from Vancouver (I'm literally sitting in Granville Island right now surrounded by pigeons as I post this). 
> 
> Also also shout outs to stitch and hey science for being supportive and wonderful, grimsister for existing, tinyowlbear because now that your rose is in bloom a light hits the gloom on the grey, and to anyone I've forgotten to add just please know that I love you and ahhh you're all amazing. All the kudos to my friends and readers. I love you <3


	37. Law and Order: Holy Shit

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tags on this chapter for... well, I mean, I'm assuming you've read the story so far, so just all the bad shit. nngh.

The day of the hearing, Garrett wakes up long before his alarm - but not before Fenris.

Sitting up slowly in Zevran's guest bed, he sees Fenris at the desk, reading through papers by the light of his phone. It's well and truly fall now, and mornings offer very little light before 8:00 a.m.

"Did I wake you?" Fenris murmurs, voice rough. 

Garrett shakes his head. "I don't think either of us were destined to get much sleep." Fenris nods, and flips a page, eyes carefully combing through the words. “Is that your statement?”

Fenris, surprisingly, smiles. “It is not. It’s Anders’.”

“Oh?”

“It’s… very passionate. I truly did not know he cared.”

Garrett pushes the covers aside and swings his legs over the side of the bed. “Apparently Varric had to do a bit of editing – there was at least three pages about how corrupt the entire immigration system is, as well as a scathing indictment of Bill C-24.”

“Bill  _what-_?”

“Don’t worry about it. Anyway. There are quite a lot of people who want you to stick around, Fen.”

“So I’m seeing.” Fenris looks at Garrett, eyes soft in the reflected light of his phone. “It’s… unexpected. I don’t know how I’ll be able to thank any of you.” He pauses, and adds, “You least of all.”

Garrett stands and crosses the room to where Fenris sits. He clasps Fenris’s shoulder, unable to help himself as he brushes a few strands of snowy hair from Fenris’s face. It’s shorter than Garrett’s ever seen it – Zevran took Fenris on an awkward “court fashion” shopping excursion on Monday which included a haircut. The suit purchased that day currently hangs in the nearby closet, stiff leather shoes tucked neatly in a box beneath it.

Any other day, any other time, Garrett would have some definitely positive opinions about seeing Fenris in a suit. Any other day. Any other time. Any other circumstance.

“It’s entirely selfish,” Garrett says, as lightly as he can. “We enjoy having you in the group. You get Anders riled up like no one else, which is always fun, and anyway, Varric’s still determined to find a nickname for you. It’s important. Also, I hear you play cards with Don now?”

Fenris puts his hand over Garrett’s, rubbing a thumb over Garrett’s knuckles. “From time to time. Quite honestly, we’ve played a lot more Words with Friends than actual cards – our schedules rarely align.”

“Fair enough. Still, really, keeping you here? We’re doing ourselves a favour.”

Fenris tilts his head. “That’s… one way to look at it.”

He stands, closing the scant inch between them to tuck his face into Garrett’s shoulder. Garrett takes the cue, wrapping his arms tight around Fenris’s shoulders.

He remembers, long ago, when he was still admiring Fenris from across a coffee shop counter, thinking of how perfectly Fenris would fit in his arms. It’s something else entirely now, feeling how well Fenris fits in his life, too.

“I like that you wear this,” Fenris murmurs quietly, reaching up to touch the medallion currently dangling over Garrett’s chest. The one Fenris got him for his birthday.

“It makes me feel like a dragon, of course I’m gonna wear it.”

Fenris smiles. “Not a conqueror of dragons, a dragon lord, a dragon slayer…?”

“Nope. Absolute dragon. Big wings. Bigger horns.”

“Do dragons have horns?”

“The good ones do. Babe-” Garrett steps back, grasping Fenris by the shoulders and looking him dead in the eyes. “The best dragons… are horny dragons.”

Fenris shoves him in the stomach, but not very hard, and he’s still smiling. “Absolutely terrible. I don’t approve.”

“You do a bit.”

“I do  _not._ ”

Garrett takes Fenris’s face in his hands and, after a brief search of his eyes and an answering nod, kisses him. Fenris rests his hands on Garrett’s chest, scarred fingers curling over Garrett’s skin, and kisses back with a heartbreakingly desperate kind of passion.

“I have to face him today,” Fenris murmurs when they break the kiss, his voice ragged. “Listen to him try to convince everyone of what he had me believing for years. And her-” Fenris rests his forehead against Garrett’s collarbone. “I’d always hoped that she took whatever money Dan gave my mother for me and made a different life, that- that maybe she hated him, even before I ever did. I should have known.”

“I’m sorry,” Garrett says, meaning it. “Maybe we can change her mind, Fen. Maybe she’ll come around when she hears your side of it.”

“If memory serves – and it really fucking doesn’t – she was only… ten, maybe eleven, when last I saw her,” Fenris says. “She must only be twenty or so now. To see her again…” Fenris shakes his head, and looks up, meeting Garrett’s eyes with a raw look. “I’ve told you once before, how you make me feel normal. I never knew what normal could be, and- and it could all be taken away today. I need-” he swallows and starts gently pushing Garrett back towards the bed. “Please – please show me normal again, just- before I go in there, I need to feel it. Please.”

“Whatever you need,” Garrett says, sitting hard as the back of his knees hit the mattress. “Whatever you need, Fen, I’ll give. Anything.”

Fenris nods, folding himself into Garrett’s lap and taking his face in his hands, whispering a thanks before pulling him into a searing kiss.

-

The Immigration and Refugee Board building is in Library Square, part of the complex housing the Vancouver Public Library. It’s strange to Garrett, discovering this as they walk up to the doors, how sinister the building feels to him now, one he’s walked past a million times without thinking twice.

It’s just him, Zevran, and Fenris – beyond his own statement, Garrett’s not entirely sure what the shape of this is going to look like, but if Zevran’s game face is any indication he certainly seems to have a strategy in play.

Fenris is quiet, his lips tight, brows furrowed, but he seems more determined than nervous, which is honestly more than Garrett can say for himself.

Fenris does, briefly, reach for Garrett when they reach the entrance, taking his hand. Just for a moment. Then Fenris lets go and steps through the doors.

After checking in, the three of them are ushered to a waiting room, the quiet office-style space somewhat removed from the dramatic courtroom setting Garrett was expected.

“The hearing will take place through those doors,” Zevran murmurs, pointing to a room across the hall. “They will call witnesses in to testify one by one – I believe you can stay in the room after, Garrett, but for obvious reasons they do not want witnesses listening in on the testimony of others before presenting their own.”

Garrett nods, feeling a little shaky. A sick dread fills him as he comes to a sudden realization. "Wait- is everyone going to be held in here before going in?"

Zevran nods, grimacing. "I do not think I have to ask you not to share details of your statement with Stanton and whoever else might show up-"

"Oh fuck no," Garrett says. "I'm more worried about just not punching him in the face while we're sitting here."

"Well, do not do that either."

Fenris is still quiet, but he rests a hand on Garrett's knee. Comforting, looking for comfort - either way Garrett places his hand over Fenris's, and they wait. All they can do is wait. 

Neither of them look up when they hear Stanton's voice float towards them from down the hall, with accompanying footsteps. Garrett, oddly, thinks of a Vietnamese legend - he thinks it's Vietnamese - about a monster whose footsteps get quieter the closer it gets. It scared the shit out of him and made from some sleepless nights after he first heard about it, but right now he sort of wishes Stanton operated the same way; that the increased volume of voice and footfall means he isn't about to round the corner.

But it doesn't, and he does, accompanied by a cold-eyed man in a smart suit with a goatee who - well, honestly, before Garrett met the guy, he sort of imagined Stanton might look a bit like this: Very clearly if not evil, at least not very pleasant. 

"...a little more time to prepare, but I promise you, she'll be here momentarily," Stanton is saying, and it's pretty easy to guess at who he might be talking about. "I assure you, she's a deeply reliable young woman."

"Well, we're not holding up the hearing on her account," the other man says gruffly. "This isn't the only case we're reviewing today."

"Of course."

The man looks over at Fenris, something ugly pulling at the corners of his lips as he takes him in, and turns on his heel without another word, disappearing through the doors to the hearing room. 

"Alrik," Zevran mutters, his opinion of the man - or lack thereof - evident in his tone. Stanton, his face as neutrally congenial as ever, takes a seat across from Garrett and sundry as Zevran speaks. "I had hoped for better. He's acting as counsel for the Minister today."

"Do we know who the, um- I guess the judge-equivalent is?"

"We do, and luckily for us she's-"

Whatever or whoever "she" is, Garrett does not find out, as the door opens and a somewhat bland-looking man clears his throat and asks for "Leto Mirani and counsel?"

Fenris flinches and nods, as Zevran says, "We will be right in." 

The man nods and disappears back inside, closing the door over. 

Garrett looks at Fenris, far too fucking conscious of Stanton's eyes on them, wishing there was something he could say. Anything he could say. 

Fenris's grip on Garrett's hand tightens, and he closes the distance between them to kiss Garrett deeply. There's even a little teeth, the sharp points just closing on Garrett's lip, and Garrett gets a sense of rebellion from Fenris in all this - kissing a man outside his removal hearing, knowing his abuser is watching. There's a fearlessness in it that threatens to steal Garrett's breath. 

Then Fenris breaks the kiss, leaning even closer to whisper to Garrett, "Don't let him get in your head."

"I won't," Garrett whispers back. 

Fenris squeezes his hand, and lets go, finally standing. He doesn't look at Stanton -  _pointedly_  does not look at him - as he and Zevran cross the room and go through the door, closing it tight behind them.

Leaving Garrett and Stanton in the waiting room. Alone. 

Garrett's endured some pretty awkward silences. He's pretty confident in calling this one the worst. And Stanton just won't stop  _staring_  at him. Garrett follows Fenris's lead and does not acknowledge him, even as the long quiet starts to grate, muffled mumblings from the hearing room only further rattling Garrett's nerves. 

"I bought him a suit like that," Stanton says eventually.

"We're not supposed to talk," Garrett growls, feeling like he's speaking with all the courage and authority of an eight-year-old.

"There's nothing you could reveal to me about your case that I don't already know," Stanton says pleasantly. "I don't see the harm in a little conversation."

It all sounds stupidly reasonable, and Garrett knows he's coming off looking like the belligerent asshole for pulling out his phone and ignoring Stanton. But that's what he does. 

"He was - hmm, twenty-one, I think," Stanton says, as if he and Garrett were at a pub swapping stories over drinks - or, given Stanton's affluence, more like a cocktail lounge and cuban cigars. "You should have seen his face when I presented him with it - so shocked and thankful, like I'd just gifted him half the city. It was very expensive, certainly, but I've always thought a man should have at least one good suit. It's a worthy investment... as was he."

Garrett's skin crawls, and it takes effort to bite his tongue, to keep from responding.  _Don't let him get in your head._

"I look forward to the day when he smiles at me like that again, Garrett, I really do." There's a wistful tone there that's horrifically genuine, and Garrett's grip on his phone gets a bit shaky. "Thankfully the law is on our side. You do understand that, don't you? It- ah, there you are."

This makes Garrett look up, and he follows Stanton's gaze to the young woman who's just joined them, standing at the very edge of the waiting room. 

The first thing Garrett thinks, is that this girl - if she even is who he thinks she is - could only be a half-sister of Fenris's. Her skin is paler, her hair a deep tomato red, and there's an uncertain and fearful pull to her lips that Fenris, even with all his cares and insecurities, does not have. 

But then he looks closer, and it's a damn shock to see Fenris's eyes, eyes he knows far better than his own, set in someone else's face. Those cheekbones are familiar, as is the the slight and small build, though where Fenris's thin frame hides deceptively strong, dense muscle, Varania is far more willowy. Still, the relation is undeniably  _there._

Stanton lifts a hand, beckoning her closer, and Varania instantly obeys, crossing the room from the entrance as if scurrying from one safe point to the next across dangerous and uncertain territory. She takes a seat next to Stanton and leans in, looking comforted by his presence as he puts an arm around her shoulders, even pressing a quick kiss to her forehead. 

Garrett's heart hits the fucking floor at this, and keeps plummeting on to the basement. The two of them look like a family sitting like that, and he can see for a sick moment what the people inside the hearing room might see - a sister and a surrogate father figure, travelling across borders and fighting the system to get their brother and ward back home to save him from himself. It's a compelling and convenient narrative.

_God,_  thinks Garrett, entirely despite himself,  _do we even have a chance?_

_-_

An approximate eternity later, Stanton is called in. He hugs Varania close, murmuring something to her that Garrett can't make out but sounds very kind and encouraging, before getting to his feet. Garrett keeps his eyes trained on his phone, which has been open on a crossword puzzle for the past hour, every box completely blank. 

So intent is he on ignoring the situation, that Garrett is genuinely startled by the sudden touch of Stanton's hand on his shoulder. He flinches back, head snapping up to shoot the man a sharp glare. 

Stanton just clasps his shoulder and gives him a sad, warm smile. "This is all for Fenris's benefit, Garrett. In time, you'll understand."

There's nothing Garrett can say in response to this that would look good in front of a government official, so instead he just jerks his shoulder out of Stanton's grasp and vividly imagines setting the man on fire. It doesn't help as much as he wishes it would. 

Stanton shakes his head and sighs, and walks away.

The door closes.

And suddenly Garrett gets why Zevran warned him not to talk to the other witnesses, as if it was some kind of tempting thing. Because it  _is_  fucking tempting. Varania is  _right there_ , looking lost and stressed and painfully young, younger than Bethany and Carver, and she doesn't fucking  _know -_  at least, Garrett hopes she doesn't fucking know - she doesn't know, and she could absolutely destroy her brother's life without ever  _knowing_ -

But he can't. He can't. Even though he wants to lay out all the horrific details for her, he can't, because that would ultimately fuck over Fenris's case more effectively than even her testimony could (and likely will). It's nothing short of torture.

So Garrett sits back in his chair and pretends to work on his crossword puzzle, and Varania sits across the room from him fiddling with her hands and biting her lip, and neither of them say a damn word to one another as another half hour passes.

-

"Garrett Hawke?"

Garrett's stomach turns, and for an awful moment, he's rooted to his seat, completely unable to move. A half an hour wasn't long enough to prepare; a day, a week, the month wasn't long enough to prepare for this. He clutches at the folder containing his written statement.  _I have to. I have to._

"Yep," he says, standing. "That's me."

Out of the corner of his eye he sees Varania glance up at him, and there's still a part of him that wonders if there was anything he could have said. 

He meets her eyes - Fenris's eyes, it's still so fucking strange - and offers her a little smile. Varania stares at him for a moment, but ultimately drops her gaze. 

The first thing that strikes him about the hearing room is how fucking boring it all looks - beige walls and awful grey carpeting, the furniture featuring dingy white paint and fake maple linoleum siding. The sparse wall behind the raised desks and podiums making up what looks like some kind of dais where a judge might sit in a normal courtroom has a single, hilariously small Canadian flag stuck to the middle of it - somewhat unnecessary given the drooping fabric Canadian flag hanging from a pole to one side of the front of the room, a flag of British Columbia in equal sagging, sad resplendency at the other end. It takes a moment for Garrett to get his bearings, but he sees Fenris and Zevran at a table just left of centre (or, at least, the backs of their heads), Stanton and Alrik to the right, and starts to get an idea of the layout. 

Sitting at the centre of the dais behind one of the desks is the woman Garrett assumes is judging their case today. She's older, much older than Garrett was expecting, her face worn and lined, white hair pulled into a bun. She nods to Garrett as he walks up the centre aisle, and motions to an empty podium off to the side of the dais.

"Once you're settled, please state your name for our records before giving your statement," the woman says into the small black microphone set into her desk. Her voice is soft, maybe even a little kind - though that impression could just be desperate optimism on Garrett's part. He catches sight of the placard on her desk as he passes by it: "Wynne J. Boyd."

Garrett reaches the podium and sets out his statement, hoping he doesn't look as nervous as he feels, even as he fumbles the papers with shaky hands. He does a quick scan, now he's in a position to see people's faces. 

Alrik looks like a douche, so not much has changed there, though there's a bit of a smug look around his eyes that Garrett knows can't be a good sign. Stanton is upsettingly calm, even smiling slightly. Assessing the two together Garrett's guessing Stanton's statement went over well - no last moment Hail Mary fuck-ups on his part.  _Damn it._  His eyes flick to Fenris and Zevran.

Zevran looks calm, determined, maybe even a little excited - this is his element, after all, so Garrett can't really fault him too much for being passionate about his work. He takes it as a good sign. He looks at Fenris, to see Fenris looking back at him. 

His first dumb thought, meeting Fenris's eyes from behind this podium, is that there's been a lot of counters between him and Fenris since the first day they met. Not just metaphorical counters, though fuck knows there's been a lot of those too, but physical ones. There's something weirdly reminiscent about the linoleum siding and the sheer amount of surface area separating them. It's a bit of a sideways thought, but it's what Garrett thinks, because he distinctly remembers all the times before they started dating, seeing Fenris at that coffeeshop and wanting to vault the counter to close the distance between them. 

Now, it's a matter of vaulting this podium. It's a slightly higher target.

Fenris, in spite of all the shit, the utter absolute fucktastrophe of this whole goddamn situation, in spite of whatever he's just been forced to sit through from Stanton and the counsel's end of things, smiles at him. It's not a full smile - nothing in the lips, only the eyes - but it's there. 

And Garrett realizes - or remembers, more like, because it's something part of him has known since day one - that they could stack this podium on top of a hundred other podiums, a hundred other coffeeshop counters, a hundred hospital beds and mattresses with no bedframe, a hundred greasy dive bar tabletops and wrought-iron fences, add a hundred more of each, and Garrett would find a way to vault them all if it meant closing the distance. If it meant making Fenris smile. 

"I'm Garrett Hawke," he says into the microphone, his eyes still fixed on Fenris. He isn't shaking anymore. "I'm Fenris's- uh, Leto- whatever, I'm Fen's partner."

_Fen's partner._  The statement has never felt more true.

He starts with the basics - how they met, when they started dating, the nuts and bolts and details that really mean very little, just getting the facts straight. He repeats what Fenris told him about his past, skirting the awkward edge of providing enough detail to back up Fenris's statement (and praying that nothing contradictory comes out) and insinuating where he can to avoid discussing things Fenris has hinted at, has said without saying, but never directly told him.

Once he finishes with all that, he glances down at his statement, then up at Wynne, who watches him with a detached sort of politeness. She's probably heard a hundred statements like his before, and there's really nothing he can do about that. He doesn't think it's going to be a matter of getting points for originality, though if he thought putting the statement into sonnet form or haikus would help, he absolutely would. 

But he's always been good at reading people, and he's always been pretty damn good with sincerity. She seems like someone who'd appreciate sincerity, and he can't think of anything he could possibly be more sincere about than Fenris.

"I don't know what you want to hear from me, or what I could say to convince you of how necessary it is to let Fen stay," Garrett says, pushing his written statement back inside his folder. "If you want to hear about his merits, the skills he could bring to the country to make it a better place, how he's a good person who deserves to live in a place where he's safe and happy and free, I can do that, and I will - I've got it all written down. I personally don't think that whether or not he's a nice person should factor into whether or not Canada decides to kick him back into the hold of his abuser, but that's just me - and for the record, he really is a very nice person. And a smart one, and a hardworking one, and a  _good_  one. He's one of the best people I know, and I'm lucky enough to know a lot of really good people.

"If you want proof from me that he  _was_  abused, confirmation, I can give you that too, though I hope you were listening when he went through it with you all in his statement as I'm really at best a secondary source. I can tell you about his nightmares, his scars - you can see them for yourself, if you're paying attention. If you care to look. I didn't know where any of it  _came_  from until recently, so if you think he might have made it all up for attention and empathy, I can confirm that's a load of bull- er, crap. He was afraid, like so many abuse victims are afraid, that no one would believe him. 

"I believe him. There has never even once been a moment where I thought he might not be telling the truth about what he went through.

"You want to hear that Fen is sane, that he  _can_  be believed? I can give you that too. The man has the patience of a saint and the wisdom of a philosopher. If I need to make a decision, he's the one I talk to, and I'm always better for having listened to his advice. He has extraordinary skill for seeing all sides of a problem, even sides he doesn't agree with. He's one of the smartest people I know - seriously, do you have  _any_  idea how many languages he speaks? Have you  _asked_? We live in a proudly bilingual country - if you're purely looking at how valuable he could be to the nation, that alone should make him an attractive asset. 

"But above everything else, all else, anything else you consider, Fenris is the bravest man I've ever met. It takes bravery to realize you're in an abusive situation when it's all you know or can remember. It takes bravery to try to escape it. Fen didn't have a choice as to where he would wind up after he started running - he didn't choose to take asylum here. He didn't choose to have any of this happen to him. All he could decide was what to do once he stopped running, and what he chose was to make a life _. Here._ We should be honoured by that, honestly.

"And Fen does have a life here. He has friends who love him, people who treat him like family; he's held down a job and paid rent and, hell, even paid taxes, despite not being a citizen." Garrett swallows. "He has me. And if you allow me, I would sponsor Fen on a path to citizenship in a heartbeat.

"I love him. I absolutely love him. And just like whether or not he's a nice person, that shouldn't matter to you. All that should matter is protecting a fellow human being from abuse. If you care about this country and what it could represent for people, then letting those in need take refuge here should absolutely matter to you. 

"My parents were immigrants, and children of immigrants. I bet yours were too. And none of us are really here legally - you know that, I don't have to go into five hundred years of colonial history to prove that particular point. But I really love this country, and I think of it as home. If there's one decently okay thing that could come out of the centuries of harm we did to make this country what it is, it's the idea that Canada could become a home and a refuge to people who need it most.

"You have a chance to make Canada step a little closer to the ideals we sell to the rest of the world when we talk about being proud Canadians. You have a chance to help someone. The only thing that should matter to you is that he really needs your help, and you have the power to help him, whether he's the reincarnation of Mother Teresa or no - and according to my buddy Anders, Mother Teresa wasn't that great of a person anyway.

"But if you want to know who Fen is... well, I can only help you so much there. I've summarized a six-month relationship in about fifteen, twenty minutes, and that's barely scratching the surface. Six months with him, and I feel like  _I'm_  barely scratching the surface. I'm hoping - praying,  _begging_  - for more time." 

He thinks for a moment, and adds, "Please." 

It's almost silent - the whine of the fluorescent lighting overhead is loud enough to be borderline deafening now that Garrett's stopped talking. 

There's a creak as Wynne leans forward in her chair, her expression unreadable. "The floor is open for any questions the counsel may have."

Alrik hunches over the mic, frowning at a page of notes in front of him. "Garrett Hawke, yes? Have you had any direct interaction with Daniel Stanton?"

Garrett tries not to grimace. "Yes."

"You've spoken?"

"Yes."

"In any of those conversations, has Mr Stanton ever expressed any intent to harm Mr Mirani?"

Garrett grinds his teeth. "Not expressly-"

"So no, then."

"No, Stanton never monologued an evil plan at me directly."

"Has he given you any reason to think he might harm Mr Mirani?"

"I think by escaping to another country and spending years in hiding Fen made it clear he didn't want to have anything to do Stanton," Garrett says coolly. "Stanton ignored this. We're standing here right now because Stanton clearly doesn't give a damn what Fenris wants. He's tried to tell me that Fen can't think for himself when that's  _provably_  untrue and tried to convince me to help him work against Fenris's desire to stay in Canada. That gives me reason to think he might not have Fenris's best interests at heart."

"You don't think those are the actions of a concerned guardian?"

"I really don't."

Alrik smiles. "But beyond Mr Mirani's words, you have no proof - no firsthand experience with this supposedly insidious side of Mr Stanton."

"Like I said, I believe Fenris," Garrett says. "I trust him. Everything Stanton has said and done, no matter how nicely he said it or what kind of spin he put on his actions, lines up with what Fen has told me."

Alrik glances back down at his notes, and up again, his eyebrows raised. "Are you aware, Mr Hawke, that Mr Mirani alleges that Mr Stanton sexually assaulted him?"

Garrett tenses. "Yes."

"You didn't touch on that much in your statement."

"I said he was abused."

"That's not really the same thing. This isn't the first you're hearing of it?"

"No."

"When did Mr Mirani first tell you that he was sexually assaulted by Mr Stanton?"

Garrett can feel his face burning. Can only imagine the kind of questioning Fenris endured from this asshole after he gave his statement. "About a month into our relationship, Fen mentioned it. He didn't go into detail, and I didn't ask for detail."

"It's interesting," Alrik says. "You don't think Mr Mirani might be twisting your sympathies to gain a foothold in this country through your sponsorship?"

" _No._ "

"You're certain he would not accuse you of similar abuses?"

" _What?_ " Garrett's voice is a little sharper than it should be, too much anger spilling into it, and he knows this is Alrik's plan - set him up as the idiot hothead against Stanton's cool, gentle kindness. He reins it in, forcing himself to be calm. "No."

"You sound very certain."

"I  _am_ very certain. Fen wouldn't do that."

"As far as you know." Alrik taps his notes. "As  _you_  said, six months isn't a very long time."

Garrett chews the inside of his cheek, and says nothing. Just kicks himself for ad-libbing.  _Stupid, stupid-._

"You seem like a very honest young man," Alrik says, and the condescension in his voice makes Garrett want to kick something. "Let me ask you a question, then. Is there any reason you would be barred from visiting the United States, or moving there yourself?"

Garrett narrows his eyes. "No."

"No awkward criminal record to speak of? No border ban?"

"No."

"So conceivably, if Mr Mirani were to be removed from Canada, it would not necessarily spell the end of your relationship."

Garrett breathes -  _cool and calm, cool and calm_  - and says, "My priority here isn't maintaining my relationship with Fenris. If that was the impression I gave in my statement, then I misspoke. My priority is keeping him safe - and given what I know, letting him stay in Canada means keeping him safe. If I was only advocating to keep my relationship from becoming a long distance one, I wouldn't be giving a statement here today. I truly and deeply believe that Fen will be in danger if he is sent back."

"Solely based on what Mr Mirani has told you."

"And going by Stanton's refusal to leave him alone or take what he wants into consideration, and having to listen to him try to convince everyone that Fenris is insane. Like I said, so far I haven't seen anything that doesn't fall in with what Fen told me."

Alrik sits back and waves a hand, looking almost bored. "No more questions from me."

Wynne nods to Alrik, and to Garrett says, "You may leave or take a seat, Mr Hawke. Thank you for your testimony."

Garrett gathers up his folder and opts for the latter option. Zevran motions to the empty seat on the other side of Fenris, which Garrett quickly claims.

Fenris doesn't look at him, but his hand finds Garrett's under the table, and he very quietly murmurs, "Thank you."

Garrett laces his fingers through Fenris's and clasps his hand tightly, trying to convey everything he's feeling, all the comfort he wish he could give him, through that touch. 

"I would like to hear from Mr Mirani's sister, now," Wynne says, tapping a tablet screen in front of her with a frown. She looks over at Zevran. "Mr Arainai, I have received that e-mail you forwarded. Rest assured I will review it before making any kind of decision today."

Zevran nods. "Thank you, ma'am."

Wynne smiles a little, and Garrett can't really blame her. Even in court, Zevran's voice has that undeniably flirtatious edge. Garrett might snicker a bit at this, if he weren't so direly distracted by the reality of the situation.

"What e-mail?" he whispers, as the attendant bustles off to the doors to call Varania in.

Fenris gets an odd look on his face, but pulls out his phone and, after a few quick taps, passes it over to Garrett.

The timestamp reads as coming in an hour and a half ago  _\- Cutting it a little close_ , Garrett thinks - but it's the subject line that catches Garrett's interest. Subject line, and sender.

**From:** n.all3n0rd@gmail.com

**Subject:** Leto "Fenris" Mirani Case 2014 - Statement

 

"Holy shit," Garrett whispers, hope ballooning in his chest before he can even start to read the rest of the e-mail. "Is this-?"

The doors shut, and Garrett feels Fenris flinch at his side. He puts the phone down.

_Ten years._ A decade since Fenris has seen his sister, and he might not even remember what she looks like. 

Varania's nervous energy is almost palpable as she approaches the dais, taking quick, nervous little steps as Wynne points her to the podium and repeats the same instructions she gave Garrett. Garrett keeps his focus on Fenris, watching him from the corner of his eye as best he can without staring outright. Fenris is stock still now, and Garrett cannot for the life of him even pretend to guess at what he might be thinking.

At the podium, Varania finally lifts her head, fully showing her face to the hearing room for the first time. Garrett hears Fenris's breath catch.

"I remember her," Fenris whispers, utterly voiceless, and even in the quiet room Garrett's sure he's the only one to hear it. He squeezes Fenris's hand. 

"M-my name is Varania Mirani," she says, and Garrett has to strain to hear her even with the aid of the mic set before her. The rustling of the papers she sets up on the podium nearly drowns her out. "I'm Leto's sister."

She doesn't look at Fenris. Her eyes seem to travel on a fixed path between the written statement in front of her to Stanton, who nods encouragingly, and back again. 

"My brother- my brother was never the same after he was attacked," Varania says, her faltering voice taking on a somewhat robotic quality as she reads off her statement. "Before he was m-mugged, he was like any other older brother; protective, strong, kind. I miss him. I'd always hoped even after that s-senseless act of violence, he might fully recover, and I might have my brother back. Mr Stanton took care of my family after it happened, took care of Leto when our single mother could not. He gave us both our lives, and I-I'm forever grateful.

"After Leto was mugged-"

Varania swallows, and a strange thing happens. Her eyes break that constant, nervously flicking path between statement and Stanton, and instead - almost as if she can't entirely help herself - finally rest on Fenris. 

"After..." she tries again, her voice trailing into nothing, still staring at her brother. Fenris, as far as Garrett can tell, stares back at her. 

There is a long and painful quiet.

Varania's lips eventually move, but whatever she says is utterly lost, too quiet for the mic to salvage. 

"Could you repeat that, please?" Wynne asks. 

"I-" Varania looks down, gripping the sides of the podium as her chest suddenly heaves. Fenris moves at this, almost as if to stand, but Zevran grabs his arm. When Varania looks up again, her cheeks are wet, eyes wide and panicked. "I- I said that's not what happened."

"I suggest we take a pause-" Alrik says loudly, only for Wynne to raise a sharp hand and cut him a hard look.

"What didn't happen, Ms Mirani?" Wynne prompts gently. 

"He wasn't-" Varania looks to Fenris again, choking a little on each word as she says, "You really don't remember, Leto? You don't-"

She breaks into a sob, a hand coming up to her mouth as mascara-tinted tears trail over her face.

"Ms Mirani-"

" _Leto wasn't mugged_ ," Varania cries, and Fenris freezes at Garrett's side. "Dan- Mr Stanton tried to-"

She can't quite get the words out, but the implication is clear. Garrett can't breathe.

"When Leto refused him, Mr Stanton him beat him nearly to death," Varania continues, in near hysterics now. "That's how he lost his memory. I saw it happen. Whatever Leto's told you, he's telling the truth."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> uhh...welp. notes?
> 
> \- Bill C-24 is a dumpster fire and means that even though I was born in Canada and lived here my whole life and am only ELIGIBLE for dual citizenship, if I fuck up Canada can take away my passport. it's a super xenophobic bill that was put in place around the time the conservative government was still deeming basically anything muslim-canadians did "barbaric cultural practices" and it affects an enormous amount of our population. we've had a liberal government for just over two full years now and there's still nothing being done about it. thanks canada. 
> 
> \- I'm... yep.


End file.
